


the feelings in my headspace rearranged

by mutemelody



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Canon Rewrite, Communication, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: Accepting Anxiety, Family Bonding, Family Issues, Gen, Hurt Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Miscommunication, Not Canon Compliant, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2020-11-26 13:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20931212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutemelody/pseuds/mutemelody
Summary: The only reason he’s hesitating right now is because of some stupid false hope he had let himself feel. Some notion that someday others will know of Virgil. That they’ll help him and love him and make him real.Some stupid notion of family. Why would he ever get that? Bad guys don’t get their dreams fulfilled. They don’t deserve it. They don’t deserve anything but ruin.. . . . . . . .“So please,” Thomas says, and his voice cracks. He reaches out a hand to Anxiety. “Give us another chance. And,please,give yourself one as well.”“I don’t deserve one,” Anxiety says, but it’s quiet,weak.There are tears in his own eyes, so he ducks his head and lets his bangs fall to cover his eyes.“I think you deserve one most of all.” Thomas answers firmly.. . . . . . . .[In which "Accepting Anxiety" didn’t happen quite the same way. In which Anxiety, unlike most other Sides, does not inherently have a name. In which this fact, among others, changes quite a few things.][Family is more than names. They'll need to know more aboutAnxietybefore they meet Virgil. And there's a lot to Anxiety they don't know.]





	1. never was built to be this way

**Author's Note:**

> [Note: If you see this work on any app or website outside of AO3 or any of the accounts listed in my profile, then it is being used without my consent and I heavily implore you to not support that app or website. Thank you.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional Warnings:  
-**Implied/Referenced Suicide Attempt [Only referenced and in regards to Virgil ducking out. It is significantly more related to actual suicide than in canon and is repeatedly remembered as this is told from Anxiety's perspective. There are no other actual attempts and that one was clearly unsuccessful.]**  
-Identity Issues [Anxiety vs Virgil, and what both names mean]  
-Consent Issues(?) [Not in reference to sex/anything sexual - it's just a brief reference to how Virgil's wishes aren't respected (i.e. when he said he didn't like flying but was in the cartoon, or when he was forced to change forms against his will]
> 
> [Title from “Don't Make Me” by MALINDA]

Sometimes Anxiety misses being Virgil.

It’s a stupid feeling that comes at the worst times. It comes when he’s sitting alone in his part of the mindscape during the day, dark and cold and just so tired. It comes when he moves through the Commons at night, far after every other Side has retreated to their ‘rooms’. He walks through there and sees the remains of the day - unwashed dishes from dinner, a book sitting with a bookmark placed inside, a half-colored piece of art - and thinks of what must have happened. 

It comes when he’s standing with the others, speaking to Thomas. When he fights and fails and resists the urge because  _ he’s trying to protect them, why can’t they see?  _

It’s absolutely foolish and unreasonable. He’s  _ always  _ been Anxiety, and being ‘Virgil’ was nothing more than some useless dream. A fantasy that lay more in the realm of either of the Creativity than himself.

He left those dreams behind when he confronted Deceit that day. 

_ “Do you know what you’re asking of me, Anxiety?” _

It had stung, hearing that name come from him. Deceit hadn’t called him  _ Anxiety  _ since the day he chose his name for himself. It had hit close to home, a sharp reminder of the extent of the favor he was asking. Of the dream he had been about to force himself to wake up from.

Since then, he’s been just  _ Anxiety  _ and has been forced to think of Deceit as just  _ Deceit. _

Still, it had felt...almost-real for a long time. Being Virgil, that is. He hadn’t been formed with a smile on his lips and a name in his head and love in his heart like the other Sides. He had  _ chosen  _ his name, rather than been gifted it. And sure, that decision had been difficult and stressful and felt  _ impossible  _ at times, but...he had done it. He had made something for himself. He had given himself a  _ name -  _ something that proved that Anxiety isn’t all he could be.

No one here knows his name. He’s just Anxiety to them. The villain. The antagonist. The Side to fight, to ignore, to  _ defeat. _

He forces himself to take a shaky breath, rubbing his face with a cold hand. He might smudge his makeup, but he doesn’t really care. He hasn’t been caring about it too much lately. It’s been too light or too dark or too lopsided for a while. He just can’t make himself care about it. The only reason he still applies it is out of complete habit.

He doesn’t even need to apply it. He could let the dark eyeshadow of his room reveal itself on his skin. But no - no he can’t do that, not in front of the Sides he’s with now. They’ll realize too fast that that eyeshadow darkens or lightens based off of his emotional state, and then they’ll be able to read him like a book. If he’s the villain, he’s not going to display his weaknesses that easily. 

When he removes his hand from his face, it’s still shaking. They’ve  _ been  _ shaking since he’s returned to his room. The last vlog had taken a lot out of him. He already hates showing up on camera, hates how Thomas allows himself to be bared to the internet so completely, but he’s long decided his presence is necessary so that the other Sides or Thomas doesn’t accidentally say or do anything that could ruin their Center.

Still, the  _ flying.  _ Both on the airplane and himself in the cartoon. It was an anxiety of Thomas’s and as the metaphysical representation of that Anxiety, that fear is embedded into his very being. It’s nothing too serious right now due to the time that has passed. Right now is just everything leftover. The cooldown. The time where he justs hides himself away to be shaken and cold and  _ alone  _ until he can piece himself back together enough to be the  _ fight  _ part of his base instinct once more. 

He doesn’t like being on  _ fight  _ as much as he is now, but that can’t be helped. It’s was required to be heard here. He can’t let himself be someone they can ignore. Before it had been just baseless worry, the paranoia that roars in him so much more now that there’s no one at his side, no one who has his back.

But then he had seen how Logic and Princey tried to oust Morality when they deemed that Thomas should be more grown up.  _ Morality.  _ The heart, the morals, the father-figure. The nicest one of the three to him. Just the plain  _ nicest  _ one of the three in general, actually.

If  _ he  _ \- the villain, the antagonist,  _ Anxiety _ \- shows weakness, who knows what they’ll do to him?

So yeah, none of his natural eyeshadow, and  _ certainly  _ not his name. His name is special, sacred,  _ his.  _ They may share their names openly, but they’re inherently different. Roman and Remus had announced their respective names from beginning, out of necessity to differentiate the halves of  _ Creativity.  _ Morality announced or joked about his name if given enough time. Logic saw no use in hiding the name he had been given.

The closest any of them had ever gotten to hiding their names was in how long it took for Thomas to find it out, but even that was fake. Logic had never seen a use in truly hiding it, and had just chosen to accept however it would be revealed. There was no point in his mind to needlessly say it himself.

Princey had just been waiting. Watching for a perfect moment, the dramatic Side that he is. Morality had been waiting too, but different reasons. A perfect moment for a pun. 

And now there’s him left. Anxiety. Thomas had asked him, so had the other Sides. He knows the fans probably do too. It’s so much pressure that it regrets him making the decision to walk in the forefront of his Center’s mind.

But it’s  _ different  _ for him. And Deceit. They are both instincts at their core. Fight-or flight. Self-preservation. They  _ hadn’t  _ had names when they first been formed, because  _ formed  _ was too neat of a word to describe how they had come to existence.

Forged was how Deceit liked to phrase it. Anxiety says  _ forced. _

Because it’s true. He’s fear and fight-or-flight blended together with hopeless creativity and twisted, irrational reasoning. Nothing about him gaining a form had been  _ neat.  _ He sometimes feels like he’s constantly on a swing, flying through the air between different imbalanced parts of the equilibrium he should be maintaining.

He needs Thomas to be safe, but also he wants Thomas to be liked. Thomas should hang out with his friends to show that he cares about them, but also that’s too much socializing and too many chances to mess up. Thomas needs to make videos because this is his job, but also getting in front of a camera and talking to over three million people is daunting and idiotic and bound to come back to bite him in the end.

Perhaps that’s why he misses Virgil so much.

Virgil doesn’t always feel like he’s on the swing, or at least at the same speeds as Anxiety. Virgil had been able to vent with the Duke, forcing out the darkest thoughts in the Imagination that half of Creativity had. Virgil had the Side who Anxiety now has to think of as Deceit to lay with him in silent understanding, knowing what it's like to feel contradictory at your core. 

After all,  _ self-preservation  _ and  _ deceit  _ don’t always line up neatly. Virgil had helped the Side Anxiety has to call Deceit through his own problems.

But no,  _ no,  _ he needs to  _ stop thinking about all of that.  _

He’s not there, he’s not  _ Virgil.  _ He’s  _ Anxiety  _ and he’s  _ still shaking for some reason. _

He should just duck out, he thinks to himself. He should just leave and fade back into an instinct. He’s been on  _ fight  _ for so long that it’s practically useless now. He just gets ignored or shut down. And then he makes himself go further into  _ fight  _ to negate that and - it’s messy. He’s messy. He’s been messy since he was forced into existence.

Maybe it had been a mistake. A misfire on something somewhere. Maybe he accidentally crossed the invisible line somewhere and gone from being a Side to a mental disorder and he’s just been pretending to be something he’s not for so long.

These thoughts aren’t new. He’s let these worries run through his mind hundreds of times before. He can’t help it. Sometimes they linger, sometimes they drift away to return another time.

But this time they don’t just linger, they  _ stick.  _ Because, really, what progress has he made since he started talking to Thomas more directly? What has he accomplished? Giving Princey’s little pet project vlog series a villain? He hasn’t helped, hasn’t changed anything, hasn’t  _ protected Thomas-  _

Maybe he  _ should  _ leave. Let himself fall back into the recesses of Thomas’ mind and fade back into obscurity. He won’t be remembered, not really. They don’t know much about him besides the persona he puts up. They don’t even know his name.    


The Duke’ll be fine - their relationship was never the best even if it was far better than Anxiety’s relationship with his twin. Besides, the Duke has Deceit. Deceit has the Duke. Deceit’s probably already moved on from Anxiety’s memory. He never was one for being sentimental. The other Sides that linger back there with those two won't care at all.

He’s really considering it. Leaving. Just... _ fading. _

No more arguments. No more false hope. No more having to stand on camera.

No more being ignored, because he’ll be complete instinct once more. He’ll be something that  _ can’t  _ be ignored. 

What’s the downside? The fact that Virgil will be well and truly gone forever? Big deal. He never was truly alive, so it’s not like he’ll die. Just another faded dream. 

The only reason he’s hesitating right now is because of some stupid false hope he had let himself feel. Some notion that someday others will know of Virgil. That they’ll help him and love him and make him real.

Some stupid notion of family. Why would he ever get that? Bad guys don’t get their dreams fulfilled. They don’t deserve it. They don’t deserve anything but ruin.

He takes a deep breath - which is entirely unnecessary, since he’s not even  _ real -  _ and closes his eyes. He thinks of blackness, of faded dreams and lost trains of thoughts and words that are on the tip of your tongue. 

He thinks of the obscurity of being in the subconscious and lets himself fade into it.

And with that, Anxiety shatters.

* * *

Reformed is a bad word for how Anxiety regains his body.

For one thing, it implies that he was  _ formed  _ in the first place. Which is proven false.

Secondly, it wasn’t clean. It never is.

It’s tugging from his Center, summons from both Thomas and some other Sides. Logic, Morality, and Creativity (Princey, not the Duke) he recognizes. It’s him scraping together his scattered pieces, because he’s in a state of limbo. He can’t exactly fade with his Center focused on him, so he has to force himself back into existence to see what’s happening.

It’s disorienting and confusing, forcing himself back. Not to mention the surprise that comes when he pops back into existence in his own room, which is where his Center and those three Sides are.

He staggers and stumbles, body weak with being reformed. He hears a shout or two of surprise as he makes himself flutter his eyes so they adjust to their own sudden re-existence. Anxiety’s thankful his room is always dark.

He steadies himself by gripping the railing of the staircase, and makes himself muster enough energy to glare.  _ “What?”  _ He growls, not exactly thrilled that the peace fading would have granted him was interrupted.

“Anxiety! Oh, I’m excited to see you.” Thomas says, before blinking as if surprised at his own excitement. He’s dressed oddly and his hair is an absolute  _ mess.  _ Was he on camera like that?

Thomas, in tune with Anxiety, suddenly reaches up to feel his hair. He looks confused and surprised himself, and rushes to brush it down with his fingers. He manages to make it look less like a bird’s nest and into something more appropriate for others to see.

“Anxiety! There are you are. We were so worried, kiddo!” Morality says while Thomas does this, and Anxiety just blinks at him.

“What?” He repeats, but it’s no longer aggressive. Just confused. He looks around, “What are you all even doing here? In my room?”

“Thomas was suddenly completely lacking your influence,” Logic informs him. “You also did not answer any of our summons. It was quite disconcerting.”

Oh, there was probably a brief in between period while he was re-integrating back into a base instinct where Thomas would be without Anxiety. He hadn’t thought of that.

“Sorry,” He finds himself saying, because he endangered Thomas so he’s in the wrong. He usually doesn’t apologize, because he’s too deep in  _ fight,  _ but that doesn’t matter anymore. He’ll explain and show them that he’s finally come to the only right decision. Then they’ll be more prepared to deal Thomas and do damage control until he’s completely re-integrated, and they can all be happy. “I hadn’t thought about the process time.”

“You’re  _ apologizing?”  _ Princey repeats, dumbfounded.

“‘Process time’? What do you mean?” Thomas asks.

He shifts, “I decided to do the right thing for once, but I think about the time between me fading and my base instinct re-integrating. You’ll have to be without anxiety for a bit, but hey, better than being stuck with me for any longer, right?” He tries to be humorous at the end, but it must fall flat. It had felt bitter in his mouth. He should have known they wouldn’t like his type of humor. Oh well, doesn’t take away from the fact that this is as  _ good thing. _

So why are they all looking at him like he said something bad?

“Kiddo, you can’t really mean…” Morality says, but trails off.

“Anxiety,” Logic says carefully, so carefully, as if he’s talking to a wild animal. “Were you just in the subconscious?”

“Uh, yeah?” Anxiety answers. “Where else could I fade from?”

Logic’s face goes completely blank, and he gives a rigid nod to show he heard him. Princey is standing there, completely frozen and silent, staring at Anxiety with something akin to horror on his face. Morality looks like he’s about to cry.

What did he say wrong?

“I don’t understand.” Thomas says, lost.

“Anxiety was, effectively, unraveling himself. We are pieces of your being, strong enough to have our own metaphysical forms.” Logic tells him, his voice somehow completely devoid of emotion but also thick with it at the same time. “Anxiety was, in essence, breaking down his form.”

“He was about to kill himself.  _ Was  _ killing himself.” Princey states, shock clear in his voice. 

Anxiety scowls at him. “I wouldn’t be  _ dead.  _ I’m not even alive in the first place. We’re all just pieces of Thomas.”

“You were in the  _ subconscious!”  _ Princey retorts. “You were trying to silence yourself,  _ forever!” _

“Well wouldn’t that be your dream come true?!” Anxiety shouts back, and the silence that settles in its weight is thick and oppressing.

Princey stares at him, and that look is most  _ certainly  _ horror now. Logic has his eyes pressed closed firmly. Morality is crying. He doesn’t even look to see what Thomas is doing, and instead focuses on the fact that Princey’s hands are shaking. That isn’t right, usually only Anxiety’s hands shake-

“I didn’t…” Princey says, his voice lost. So far from the usual proud and bombastic tone Anxiety hears all the time. “I  _ don’t  _ wish…”

Anxiety just rolls his eyes. “Don’t act like it wouldn’t be something you want. _Any _of you. I’m done with all the fighting and arguing and _everything. _My consent is a joke and I’m useless. Message received, loud and clear.”

_ “No,”  _ Morality says, and Anxiety doesn’t know why he sounds so  _ anguished.  _ Is it some version of guilt? He probably shouldn’t have said that in front of Morality. Negative emotions and all. He could be affecting the Heart. Ugh, why did they have to barge in?

Wait, what if it was his  _ room?  _ Each room practically is soaked in the essence of that Side. It makes sense - it’s not really a  _ room,  _ but rather their part of the mind. Being here is probably not good for such an emotion-driven Side as Morality. That’s probably why he’s acting so-

Suddenly Morality’s close, not touching but close enough too. He’s taken a few steps, and looks like he wants to reach out but doesn’t want to scare him. Again, with the cautious look. He’s not a wild animal. He’s not going to rip their heads off or anything. They don’t need to look at him like that-   


“Anxiety,” Morality says, his voice so incredibly soft and gentle, and something rises up in Anxiety and threatens to choke him at that tone. What even is this emotion? “This isn’t the answer.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” He manages to get out, but it feels like his throat is closed up. His hands are still shaking. They don’t usually shake for this long. “This is the  _ only  _ answer.”

“No, it’s not.” Morality reaches out, slow and telegraphed, and so gently places a hand over the one Anxiety has on the railing of the staircase still. His hand is so  _ warm.  _ “There are  _ always  _ other answers.” He continues. “Communication, for one. I - We haven’t exactly been the best with that, but we can fix that. We can listen, try to understand. Learn. We...you could...well, we haven’t exactly told you that you can reach out, but you can, okay? We’ll...I’ll...oh,  _ kiddo.”  _ A new wave of tears comes over Morality’s face, and the Side bites his lip as if trying to force them back. He reaches up with one hand to brush them out of his eyes, his fingers clumsily hitting his glasses in the process. It’s something that would be a lot easier with two hands, but for some reason the hand Morality has over Anxiety’s doesn’t go away. It actually tightens. “We can only talk if you’re  _ here.”  _ Morality chokes out.

“That’s not true.” Anxiety says, but knows it’s wrong. Why would Morality lie? He’s so stupid. Still, he keeps talking, “You won’t...I don’t...I don’t  _ deserve  _ to be listened to. I’m too much.”

“That is not factually correct. You are incredibly important in Thomas’s day-to-day life.” Logic speaks up. “You figuratively ‘push’, yes, but it is atypical that you ‘push’ to the extent one could classify as ‘too much’. Thomas rarely gets anxiety attacks. You do not reach into the territory of a mental disorder-”

“Everything  _ about  _ me is disorder!” Anxiety retorts, his head snapping to face the logical Side. He yanks his hand out from Morality’s with a jerky motion and forces down the feeling of missing that seemingly endless source of warmth. “How do we know I’m not an illness? How do we know I’m not just pretending to be a Side,  _ masquerading  _ as some protective instinct when in reality I’m only hurting Thomas with  _ every single thing I do.” _

“Because you don’t hurt like that.” Thomas says, his voice gentle like Morality’s but an undercurrent of firm knowing like Logic’s. He steps forward, between Logic and Morality and gets closer than both. Anxiety doesn’t tense or flinch like he would with anyone else right now, because that instinct just isn’t in place for Thomas. It’s  _ Thomas.  _ His Center.

“Anxiety, you are  _ so  _ important. Sure, sometimes you could be a little loud, but so are most alarms, right? But without them we’d all be in a lot of danger.” He gives Anxiety a smile, just a simple smile, but for some reason it’s so  _ soft  _ and  _ kind  _ and  _ Thomas  _ that for a moment he feels a whole lot like  _ Virgil.  _ “And maybe everything isn’t as drastic as you think it is, but we’ve never really addressed that, have we? We can’t expect you to know that when we don’t listen. We’ll work on it, okay? Together, like Patton said. We’ll talk. I’ll listen to your fears instead of pushing them away, I promise, but I can’t do that without my good old worrywart, right?”

Virgil just stares at him. Wait, no, he’s  _ not  _ Virgil. He’s Anxiety. He’s Anxiety and he’s staring at Thomas and it’s  _ not  _ hope rising in his chest because he’s  _ Anxiety just Anxiety nothing else but bad thoughts worries and fears- _

“You’re more than you give yourself credit for,” Princey chimes in, but thankfully has not moved. If he does, Anxiety will be crowded. Surrounded. With him staying a step behind, there’s a clear escape path, a clear way  _ out.  _

“You’re motivation. You push Thomas, yes, but in  _ good ways  _ as well as bad.” Princey continues. His hands are fidgety, like he’s restraining himself from his usually grandiose gestures. “You push him to rehearse and rehearse. And sure, you’re there even when he’s on stage, but when it’s time...you back off completely. You let his passion and excitement and everything take over. You make sure it will all be fine, and then let the enjoyment seep in. You’re able to work with us - willing, I’d wager.” Princey hesitates - which is odd, he’s  _ Princey,  _ he doesn’t hesitate usually - before taking a breath and saying. “You are the reason Thomas gets out of bed in the morning. Us three, we all have our opinions on how Thomas should live his life, but you make sure he  _ does.” _

“So please,” Thomas says, and his voice cracks. He reaches out a hand to Anxiety. “Give us another chance. And,  _ please,  _ give yourself one as well.”

“I don’t deserve one,” Anxiety says, but it’s quiet,  _ weak.  _ There are tears in his own eyes, so he ducks his head and lets his bangs fall to cover his eyes.

“I think you deserve one most of all.” Thomas answers firmly.

And, at the end of it all, Anxiety is a Side. He’s a Side and Thomas is his Center. 

At the end of it all, he’d do whatever Thomas wants him to do.

So, he reaches out and takes Thomas’s hand.

A sob forces its way up his throat.

Thomas draws him in slowly, wrapping him in a careful hug. Anxiety - Virgil? Is he Virgil? - lets himself cry into his Center’s shoulder, letting out so much  _ emotion  _ that has been buried under  _ fight. _

He cries and cries. Thomas whispers reassuring words. Eventually, they move to the Commons. There’s a soft blanket over him and drinks at the ready and those three Sides are lingering around, within reach but not touching. He stays where he is, practically burrowed into Thomas from their position on the couch.

He falls asleep in a much different situation than when he had woken up that morning. 

He had woken up cold and alone.

He falls asleep surrounded by others, warmer than he has been in a while.

He wakes up, eventually. The others are still around, peacefully coexisting in Commons as if they could not bear to leave Anxiety’s presence. Thomas has not moved, despite the fact that he’s probably spent the whole day in some sort of dissociative state back in reality. 

They talk a bit more when Anxiety wakes up. They talk and try to fix things. Anxiety tells them a bit more - about how  _ fight  _ has been his mode for so long he’s not sure if he knows much of anything else anymore. About how he’s not sure of how much of the dark persona he puts up is a façade anymore.

They listen, they actually  _ hear  _ him. He voices those fears and about a dozen others and they hear him out. And they...they  _ help.  _

And for the problems they cannot help with - the problems that can’t be solved overnight, the fears that can’t be assuaged easily - they make plans. Measures to help over time. 

They do not ask him his name once. For some reason, that’s the most important part to Anxiety.

Because he remembers the times where they did. Remembers saying that he felt good, and then suddenly being put on the spot to reveal his. As if it was that easy. As if it wasn’t something so  _ important.  _ The only part of himself that he got to choose.

As if he hadn’t been hiding it because it was seeped in love and affection and he didn’t want to taint it by the deep and vast solitude he found himself wading in,

And, yeah, he still sees  _ Virgil  _ as a dream. He still wonders if him being deserving of a name was just some fantasy. An illusion.

Maybe it is a dream. But maybe it could be an attainable one.

Maybe it had been real and he had lost it. But maybe it could be regained.

Maybe, maybe,  _ maybe. _

That word used to be his enemy.

But now...maybe it might be a friend.


	2. this ebb and flow they share

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’ll be fine, he tells himself as he digs his hands deeper into the pockets of his sweatshirt. He hunches in on himself a little more under their scrutiny. This is _fine._ There’s no reason panic and worry should be crawling up his throat and threatening to choke him. He knows what to expect. He’s experienced their hatred and anger before. Sure, that was before he knew acceptance would be so good, but he still knows what to expect nonetheless. Nothing’s changed. _Nothing’s changed._
> 
> It’s like ripping the bandaid off. That’s what this is. He’ll take it then they’ll agree he needs to go and then he does and it’ll all be fine because in the end he’ll be gone and-
> 
> “Oh, kiddo, I’m so sorry.” Morality says. 
> 
> Anxiety blinks. Suddenly he realizes that maybe he doesn’t know what to expect from them anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional Warnings:  
-**Suicidal Thoughts [Still in reference to Virgil fading; he does not attempt to do so again but does think heavily upon the matter]  
-Anxiety Attack & (possibly) harmful coping mechanisms to deal with one  
-Identity Issues [Anxiety vs Virgil; now a warning that is tagged for the fic so this is the last time it will appear in additional warning notes]  
-Consent Issues [Again nothing sexual; vaguely introduced in regards to Virgil's Tempest Tongue]  
-Moving On Videos [Not sure really if I should include this, but just know this chapter covers Moving On parts 1&2 and all the themes in those videos]
> 
> [Title is from Spectral Heart's original song "CONSTANTS (VIRGIL'S SONG)".]

Things change after that.

Anxiety, by nature, hates change. It doesn’t matter if it’s positive or negative - he loathes it. One time, the faucet in Thomas’s bathroom gained a leak. It was noisy and constant and aggravating. Anxiety heard expensive water bills and ruined property and floods in each drop. 

But, despite the worry, it had been _ constant. _ By nature, he hates change and favors - not loves, he doesn’t know if he is truly capable of that - constancy. When the leak was finally fixed Anxiety felt like he was missing something. He felt off-balance, unsure, unsteady. That’s what change does, and he _ hates _ it because being like that is _ dangerous. _

That’s how he feels now. Off-balance, unsure, unsteady.

He snaps, lashes out, expresses himself in the way he does after spending so long in_ fight. _ Instead of snapping back immediately, of firing off a quick retort, Princey will look at him, will _ hesitate. _He’ll respond normally sometimes, when the initial bite wasn’t truly hurtful. Those interactions are the better ones due to their familiarity.

But sometimes, Princey won’t. He’ll look Anxiety over and soften instead of harden. He’ll give Anxiety this dumb look that makes him feel warm instead of dark. He’ll keep his voice level and ask Anxiety questions and somehow always figure out the hidden fear behind the anger. He stills waits for Anxiety to say it. And Anxiety will, because he sees the changes the others are making and knows he has to change as well…even though the very notion of it makes his skin crawl and the want to hide himself in his room forever.

He’ll state his fear for them to see and they’ll speak about it and Anxiety will apologize for being in _ fight _and what he’s said. They’re good at both holding him accountable and keeping him from blaming himself too much to the point he spirals. He feels the amount of times he snaps doesn’t necessarily decrease, but they do...lessen in intensity. Either he’ll catch himself and do his breathing exercises before speaking, stopping himself entirely from starting conflict, or cutting himself off midway to leave. When he returns the others are there to listen to him and receive his apology.

They don’t expect overnight change. They don’t expect _ him _ to change. Just...how he expresses himself. They start changing to stop hurting him, and he in turn finds it easier and easier to change to stop hurting them. He finds himself hating himself sometimes, alone in his room, for the fact that _ they _ had to change first for him to leave _ fight. _ Ultimately, however, it’s a moot point. Their arguments all change. _ They _all change.

He still hides away, isolates himself. There are still times where he avoids mealtimes like the plague and leaving his room during the day feels forbidden. He forgets about the change; he doesn’t always remember that if he leaves his room, he won’t have to exhaust himself hiding all his weak spots. He forgets that they won’t see that he’s left _ fight _ and turn it into an opportunity to push him into _ flight _ \- to push him _ away _far from Thomas. Away from where he can do his job.

Morality is so, _ so _patient with him. He makes a point to extend an offer for Anxiety to leave his room at least once a day. They’re smaller things, meaningless little tasks that don’t really need to be done because they’re all just figments of the mind. That makes it easier, though - low stakes, short amount of time, minimal effort.

It gets established that breakfast won’t work and lunch is a lost cause, so dinner is the one meal Anxiety partakes in on a regular basis. It’s usually just in opening the door to take his serving of whatever meal Morality has prepared for the night and eating it alone, but it’s something. He doesn’t usually eat - they don’t need to and it’s hard to find an appetite in anxiousness - so it’s another change. Something to adjust to.

He manages, more or less. Some nights he doesn’t end up eating the meal at all and has to choke down the guilt when he has to admit to Morality that he couldn’t do it the next day. Morality never gets upset about it, though. He just gives Anxiety a reassuring smile and tells him it’s okay.

Other nights are a lot better. A few times he manages to actually go to the Commons and eat a bit with the others. They all make an effort to keep things casual, to not all draw attention to the fact he’s present. He knows they’re behaving differently by the sole fact that Princey and Logic don’t get into an argument. He might’ve never participated in the past, but they’re not exactly _ quiet. _He’s been able to hear them all the way in his part of Thomas’s mind before.

It’s appreciated. He couldn’t do that - the fighting, the _ yelling. _ He’d go hard into _ flight _ and probably wouldn’t be seen for weeks later. While he feels guilty and anxious for making them have to cater to his nonsensical idiosyncrasies, he’d feel worse if he erased all of the hard work they’ve put in because he can’t do yelling.

Well, that’s not true - he _ can _ do yelling. He can yell. He can be yelled at. He’s not just _ flight _ or panic, he’s also _ fight _and irritation. He’s not helpless. He’s not some innocent thing made of glass.

But at dinner it would be different, because dinner is supposed to be _ safe. _ It’s supposed to be a time when he can sit at a table with the others and feel welcome and secure and safe. One day, yeah, if things continue the way they are one day he’ll be able to handle fighting here better. But not now. For now it’s his place to go after a hard day to be reminded that _ yes _, they actually want him. And sure, maybe they’re not there yet, but he’s doing better. They’re on the right track.

Sometimes the right track is hard. Sometimes he stumbles and falls and breaks. Sometimes he’s having an anxiety attack in his room and he feels drowned and dying under a heavy weight.

It’s _ awful. _ It always has been, but the cooldown hits harder when he knows that the others would listen to him if he could just make himself _ speak. _

Somehow, though, Logic always knows. Somehow, there’s always a small note that slides under his door when he’s done with the worst of the attack itself. He’s told them that when he’s in the anxiety attack himself he needs to be alone - which is partially a lie, but they don’t know that - but that afterwards it varies.

Logic’s note always says the same thing in the same neat penmanship. Constancy. It’s nice.

There’s a printed out version of his breathing exercises and an invitation to join Logic in his room, or summon Logic to Anxiety’s. He usually chooses the former, because even if it’s new territory he can at least flee. You can’t flee if they’re in your sanctuary.

It’s good, Logic being there. He doesn’t smother him, and is perfectly okay with simply silently coexisting. He’s also not completely closed off, okay with Anxiety leaning up next to him and reading some book about numbers that has a soporific effect on the literal embodiment of anxiety. He thinks it’s the history of calculus, but he’s never in the state of mind to really remember.

There are changes, yes. They are hard to get used to, yes.

But Anxiety thinks it’s worth it.

* * *

They do a few more vlogs after a while. Anxiety doesn’t want to be the center of attention, so they don’t bring the dramatic shift in dynamic to the forefront of any of the videos. They (or rather, Roman, who makes the decison but is uncontested in doing so) leave it to be a gradual thing. The next episode as sorting them into Hogwarts Houses, and each Side subtly highlighting the good parts of Anxiety’s character to try and fit him into a house. He’s ultimately left unsorted, _ alone _, but it’s different from how it used to be.

Now, he doesn’t feel villainized. He doesn’t feel like an antagonist or an enemy. He just feels like someone who’s portion of the Thomas couldn't fit neatly into one of four boxes. A Side that didn’t change his outfit, because he doesn’t want that much change. Thomas says that that’s okay, so maybe that’s okay.

Maybe things are okay.

Until things aren’t. Until it’s clear that Thomas is not healed from the break-up between him and...and…

Stupid. He’s so _ stupid. _ He was foolish and emotional and messed up and Thomas lost someone he cared about, _ who he loved, _ and Anxiety’s sitting here not knowing what to do and he _ can’t even think his name. _

He knows it. Oh, does he know it. But there’s a difference between _ knowing _ it and really _ thinking _ it. Names are special, at least to Anxiety. They always have been. It’s a byproduct of his forced creation, of who he is and everything that makes him up. It feels... _ wrong _ for him to think of his name when it’s Anxiety’s fault that he’s no longer in Thomas’s life. He’s too... _ unworthy. _

There’s a reason he doesn’t think of the Sides as their names. He doesn’t _ deserve _it. He doesn’t deserve that level of familiarity. He may be changing, but he hasn’t truly redeemed himself. By knowing and thinking of and calling them their names, he’s making a relationship between them that nothing can truly erase. He can’t do that to them. Can’t force them to be stuck with him in that way.

Morality’s room is hard. When his Center was in his room the anxiety had manifested in the other Sides in a manner connected to their focus, pushing them forward. Sure, it had been messy and slightly hysterical near the end, but the focus had _ existed. _It had helped to ground them and slow down the anxiety that would slowly overtake their functions otherwise.

But in Morality’s room, they don’t really have a goal. A focus. Well, they _ did _\- the original purpose was to cheer Thomas up - but that had been a coverup and quickly had derailed when Thomas had realized what the Side’s room contained. Memories. Memory upon memory. Nostalgia in its purest form

Anxiety hates nostalgia. 

His memory is so bad by nature that he makes Thomas do things multiple times so he can be sure it actually happened. Currently there’s a pattern of Thomas locking his car three times - once when he’s completely out, another time a few steps away, and then one more time when he’s at the door to his house. It’s doubtlessly annoying and pointless to the other Sides, but for him it’s _ necessary. _

But nostalgia is something else entirely. It’s his _ enemy. _ It’s full of mistakes and embarrassing moments and missed opportunities. It reminds him that he’s a paranoid idiot who just _ cannot _ do _ anything _ right, cannot protect, _ always hurts- _

He doesn’t mean to go into an anxiety attack in Morality’s room, but when Logic leaves it’s all too much. Logic at least had tried to make them see that something was wrong, something was wrong with _ him. _ He tried to show them how the room was affecting him but they didn’t listen.They didn’t care and everything’s bad and _ he’s so bad, evil, antagonist, villain. _

_“No…”_ He hisses, agitated as Princey pushes Thomas to call...him. His ex. The guy that Anxiety is no longer allowed to think the name of, because _he ruined it. _Ruined _everything._

But Anxiety isn’t being listened to. They’re not _ listening. _ They said they’d listen but they ignored Logic and they’re going to ignore him too and he can’t let that happen, he _ can’t he can’t he can’t- _

** _“Stop it! Just stop!”_ **

He doesn’t mean to let _ that _ seep through, but he’s not in the state of mind to actively stop it. He’s panicking and spiraling and _ nothing’s right. _

There’s a reason he doesn’t want them around during an anxiety attack. He can’t control his voice and he says things and others just _ do _ them because he overrides them. He’s an _ instinct, _and that’s something that’s hard to be ignored or suppressed, but can certainly do both.

That’s another reason why he gravitated towards Deceit. Instinct does not override instinct. Neither of them have influence over the other in any way besides words and actions. He can lose control around Deceit and it’s okay because it doesn’t affect him. He’s also the only one that reaches out to Deceit at times because Deceit can’t silence him like he can others. They could work well together, they _ had, _ and then Anxiety had to _ ruin it. _

His breathing is heavy and loud in a now-silent room, and his eyes widen because _ oh no oh no he made them shut up without their consent he’s so evil and bad and malicious always hurts everyone he cares about- _

He leaves. Sinks out on the spot and locks himself in his corner of the mindspace.

He doesn’t leave as in _ fade. _ He doesn’t. Thomas had made him promise not to, and there’s very little that could make him break a direct promise to his Center. Maybe nothing. He doesn’t know. He’s thought of every negative outcome, for every unhappy ending, but he _ still doesn’t know. _

It takes longer to calm down than usual. Every time a semblance of calm or rationality (or at least, what is calm and rational for _ him, _ as by nature he is neither of those things) tries to settle in, panic re-grips him and claws at him and the echo of his dark and distorted voice repeats over and over in his ears.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

* * *

He doesn’t notice Logic’s card until the next morning, when he stands and stretches from his curled up position in the corner. He’s not sore or stiff, not really, because they’re not real. He may feel it, but it’s fake. He’s fake. He’s evil.

He forces himself to focus on the card, that must have been slipped under at some point. He really doesn’t have an estimate from when. He wasn’t exactly in the best state of mind to notice at any point after he fled Morality’s room. 

Morality. _ Morality. _ Morality and Princey and Thomas. He had yelled at them while in an anxiety attack, which meant that he had _ made _ them stop. They hadn’t ceased out of listening to him or caring or anything, he had _ forced _them.

He’s made no progress. He’s still the villain. They had all been deluding themselves when they thought otherwise.

He looks at his face in the mirror. The only thing that looks different is the purple hair which was from Thomas. There’s no change there otherwise. Nothing that says that he’s changed in any way from who he was a day ago, a week ago, a month ago.

He hasn’t changed. He probably never will. He certainly doesn’t deserve to.

_ “I think you deserve one most of all.” _

But does he? Does he _ really? _

He feels a slight tug of a summons, careful and hesitant. It’s not specific, but just to them all in general. He wonders if Logic, Princey, and Morality think about how the summons goes much further than the four of them. That doubtlessly Deceit will be with the Duke, stopping him from answering like he does every time Thomas does a broad summoning. Anxiety used to help with some others, stopping them from showing up themselves. He couldn’t help with the Duke - anxiety cannot quiet that impulsive and intrusive brand of creativity. It can only exacerbate it.

He wonders if Deceit now has to manage the others on top of the Duke. That’s a lot of work for two Sides, nevermind only one.

He takes a breath and flips up his hood. It’s helpful in times like these when the anxiety comes from feeling exposed and on display. Other times it’s useless and would only serve to further his anxiety as it reduced his hearing and peripheral vision.

He sinks down into the mind before popping himself into existence in the real world. 

He needs to do this. Needs to face what he’s done. Needs to accept that he’s a foolish and dangerous Side that should just fade. He can’t fade now - he’s on Thomas’s mind to too great a degree, too much in his focus. Fading is falling into the back of the mind. The subconscious. It’s the opposite. He can’t leave unless Thomas lets him, and Thomas doubtlessly won’t let him without this confrontation.

The three other usual Sides are present, as is his Center. He appears there, among the people he's hesitantly begun to think of as allies - not friends, not them, _ not yet _ \- rather than enemies. He stands and waits for a verdict, because the rest of the process can easily be skipped over. He's guilty and they all know it. The only thing undecided is his sentencing.

It’ll be fine, he tells himself as he digs his hands deeper into the pockets of his sweatshirt. He hunches in on himself a little more under their scrutiny. This is _ fine. _ There’s no reason panic and worry should be crawling up his throat and threatening to choke him. He knows what to expect. He’s experienced their hatred and anger before. Sure, that was before he knew acceptance would be so _ good, _ but he still knows what to expect nonetheless. Nothing’s changed. _ Nothing’s changed. _

It’s like ripping the bandaid off. That’s what this is. He’ll take it then they’ll agree he needs to go and then he does and it’ll all be _ fine _because in the end he’ll be gone and-

“Oh, kiddo, I’m so sorry.” Morality says. 

Anxiety blinks. Suddenly he realizes that maybe he doesn’t know what to expect from them anymore.

He looks up to make eye contact, startled to the core. Morality’s looking at him so sadly, so..._ full of guilt? _So is Princey and Thomas. Logic looks less guilty, but more concerned and analytical. His head is tilted forwards in that way he gets only when he’s really focused about something.

“What?” The word escapes out from his mouth before he really thinks about it. _ “You’re _sorry? What for?” 

A pained look flashes across Morality’s face for a moment before being replaced with resolve. “I should have been more mindful of you.” Morality says, firmly but still apologetically. It’s clear he’s been thinking this over carefully. “Logan warned us that the room was affecting you, but I didn’t listen. I’m sorry.”

“I…” Anxiety’s reeling, caught off-guard by the unexpected apology. This is _ not _ what he had been expecting at all. They seem to have a tendency to do that - surprise him by doing the unexpected, by _ apologizing. _ Because, really, even _ he _doesn’t play with the idea of them every expressing any sort of regret towards him. Why would they? Still, it’s clear they (especially Patton) are taking the blame onto themselves for this. That’s not right. “It’s not your fault.” He manages to get out, “I should have spoken up. Said something.”

“You were hardly in a mindset to do so.” Logic points out, ever the reasonable one. “I must also express my apologies. I left at an inopportune time due to my own...faults. I should not have ceased to communicate what was happening to you due to some slight resistance.”

“We’re also sorry,” Thomas speaks up, looking at Princey. “I ignored what Logan was saying when it was clearly hurting you.”

“I was so focused on the past I lost sight of what was in front of me and hurt both you and Thomas in the process,” Princey agrees, “I must express my regrets as well for that reason.”

Anxiety just blinks, overwhelmed. They..._ all _ apologized? They didn’t hate him? Want him to go, to leave, to _ fade? _This wasn’t a confrontation, but rather...a discussion? An attempt at a resolution?

(Maybe things had changed more than Anxiety realized.)

“I’m sorry.” He says, and when he sees protest he immediately plows forwards. “No, even if I was panicking I still...lost control. I slipped up and took away your decision to choose in the moment. So, I’m sorry too.”

Because even if he didn’t have control in the moment, he should still apologize. Even if it hadn’t been his fault - which it had been, but apparently that’s a point of contention, and Anxiety doesn’t know how to deal with that - it’s the right thing to do. He has control now and it’s his responsibility to use it to apologize. 

“If you don’t mind me asking...what was that?” Princey inquires carefully, uncharacteristically cautious.

Anxiety shifts his weight, rocking himself from the balls of his feet to his heels slightly in order to help sort out his thoughts. There’s a lot of information to answer that question, but it’s really not the time or place for all of it. “Anxiety is not entirely a…_ conscious _ process. Sometimes when it gets too much I just... _ force _action. I only really lose control when I’m panicking really badly, but it’s usually okay because no one’s around.”

“Is that why you don’t want anyone present during your attacks?” Logic asks, and even though his voice is gentler than normal Anxiety still winces at the accuracy of the guess. He shouldn’t be surprised, really. Even though Logic isn’t quite the most social, he’s not blind. 

He picks at a thread on the inside of his hoodie pocket. “Partially,” He admits. “It’s easier to calm down if I don’t have to worry about hurting anyone else by saying things I don’t mean with my- with that voice.” He almost says Tempest Tongue, which would have been a mistake. They would have noticed the creativity behind the name and doubtlessly commented on it. Which would have led to realization of the Duke behind it, and Thomas is _ not _ready for that realization yet. He’s still struggling to work through the Sides that currently appear to him. 

For him to face the other, more impulsive side of Creativity? It would not end well. Also the fact that the more focus on the Duke exacerbates his…_ less moral _ideas. 

Yeah, Anxiety would rather avoid that altogether.

Thankfully, they seem to either miss the stumble, dismiss it, or just let him slide it by. No matter the reason, he’s highly grateful no one makes a comment. They also seem to accept his answer and don’t speak of changing their current system, which is nice. Logic does gain a thoughtful look in his eyes, so he’s not fooled into thinking the matter is completely dropped, but it’s enough for now.

They speak more. They talk of how the problem came about. Of the pain of love lost, of repressing negative emotions, of how moving _ on _ isn’t the same as moving _ forwards_. They speak and Princey suggests that they make a vlog out of it because it’s an important topic and no one disagrees.

Eventually, Anxiety finds himself sitting on the stairs, head leaning against the banister as he listens to Thomas and Princey make up an outline. Morality and Logic have both left for widely different reasons, but Anxiety had stayed. He’s not participating, just...soaking it in. _ This _ is the kind of socialization he revels in.

Thomas and Princey do finish at sometime, when Thomas has to go do other things. Instead of just sinking out, though, Princey surprises Anxiety by coming over to him and flashing him a smile. He extends a hand, and Anxiety stares at it for a moment, then at Princey. The usual confidence is displayed all over his face, but Anxiety can tell in the tenseness in his form is betraying insecurity. He’s not sure whether Anxiety will accept or scorn him.

Anxiety takes the hand even though he doesn’t need the support, and when they stand up they sink out together. It’s a nice moment of intimacy, and Princey’s hand is _ so warm. _The others always seem to be warm. Not that he’s complaining - he always runs cold, so it’s a pleasant counter. Even if it makes him hyper-aware of how uncomfortable his icy touch must be to them.

He doesn’t have to let go, as that was already done when they changed locations; Anxiety’s popping in and Princey’s rising up don’t exactly provide a method of travel friendly for physical contact. So, Anxiety simply steps away, unsure of his purpose but his room as a destination in mind. Maybe if he can grab his headphones-

“Anxiety,” Princey says, and Anxiety freezes mid-stride. He turns and looks at the fanciful Side with a questioning raised eyebrow. “I have a question, if you do not mind.”

“What’s up?” He asks, thankful his worry does not show in his voice. The vague sentence is enough to drive away any illusion of calm in his mind.

Princey hesitates. “When you were speaking earlier of your..._ voice.” _He makes a vague gesture to his own throat to indicate exactly what ‘voice’ of Anxiety’s he was speaking of. “You were about to call it something, weren’t you? You have a name for it.”

It’s not really a question looking for an answer. It's looking for confirmation. Anxiety had been foolish to think he’d get away that smoothly with such a slip. He pushes down his hood, suddenly hyper-aware of his surroundings and finding any sense being dulled in any capacity highly unacceptable. 

He looks at Princey, before looking away. “Tempest Tongue.” He says, “And I know what you’re thinking, and yeah. The Duke thought of it.”

Princey doesn’t say anything for several long moments, which feels like small eternities. Still, Anxiety does not look to see whatever’s crossing his face. “Were you two friends?”

It’s a safer question than he had expected, so when he shrugs he regains eye contact. “Depended.” He answers honestly.

“Did he...” Princey falters, “Was Remus...content?” 

“Are you?” He counters.

_ No _ is the answer to both questions. Neither half of Creativity is really _ content _with their situations. They had been split apart twice - once literally into the halves that they exist as now, and once between the forefront of Thomas’ mind and under his radar. Princey cannot see the Duke unless he is able to come to the front of Thomas’ conscious thinking. Which is inevitable, Anxiety knows.

“He’s still the Duke, though.” He finds himself saying out of some vague hope he can offer Princey some level of comfort. “He hasn’t changed. Just like you’re still Princey.”

Princey nods, his eyes focused on something far away and clearly lost in thought. Anxiety takes a hesitant step away, unsure if he should stay or give him privacy. When there’s no clear reaction, he takes that as a cue to leave and turns.

“Thanks, Anxiety.” He hears Princey say softly on his way out.

He turns his head slightly over his shoulder as he pauses in the doorway. “It was no problem.” He murmurs back, before finally leaving to head to his room.

Yeah, things have changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, because I have the need to say this: This will be for the foreseeable future told completely from Anxiety's point of view. Even though it's not first person, he still influences how the reader sees and experiences everything. I'm not saying he's an unreliable narrator, but he is, at the end of it all, Anxiety. He's had much different experiences than any of the other Sides seen so far. Do with that information as you will.


	3. there's method in my madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Deceit and Anxiety, formdays meant something different. It wasn’t as special to them. Honestly, Anxiety barely remembers his formday and barely remarks it’s passing. Usually it was spent like every other day had gone back then. The only significant thing that had ever happened on that day was a deeply personal event shared between Deceit and Anxiety when Anxiety shared his name with him, but that was it.
> 
> Other than that? December 19th barely meant anything to him. Really. _ Really. _
> 
> So why does he feel different this year?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to Anxiety. In honor of his birthday, here's a new chapter that may or may not have to do with birthdays.
> 
> NO ADDITIONAL WARNINGS APPLY
> 
> [Title from "King" by Lauren Aquilina]

The _ Moving On _videos were successful.

They had given a watered down recreation of what actually had happened. There were some clear omissions - the ex’s name, for one - but a good deal still stayed. Logic had agreed to show his frustrated departure, Princey his foolish blindness, Morality his unhealthy repression…

They don’t ask anything of him, but he knows it would be unfair for him to not showcase his own role in it fully. He doesn’t include the anxiety attack - he’d never show _ that _on camera, if he could help it - but he tells Princey one day that if he wants to introduce his Tempest Tongue, he’d be okay with sharing it as long as some of the details around it (the attack, losing control) are omitted.

Princey listens carefully, and is able to write in a scene where it’s used to stop Thomas from calling his ex and professing his still-existing love. Anxiety’s comfortable with the scene, as it showcases it in a manner that displays its purpose while also not making it look like Anxiety just _ enjoys _overriding the others and taking direct control. 

Making the two videos in itself is therapeutic to a degree. It reaffirms the message in all of their minds and helps them, well, _ move on _ from that. He leaves filming with the same leftover anxiety he usually gets, but also a sense of security. They don’t want him to fade. They _ still _don’t.

(Maybe they never did?)

(Maybe he is necessary, needed, _ wanted.) _

That’s when winter comes.

Sides are...strange. They didn’t necessarily have _ birthdays, _as they shared that with Thomas. They’ve all technically been a part of him since the moment he was born, just in different capacities.

They do, however, have _ formdays. _ The days that mark the anniversary of when they first manifested a metaphysical form. When they became much more than just their function or fraction of Thomas’ personality. When _ Logic _ became _ Logan _ or when _ Morality _ became _ Patton, _ and so on and so forth_. _

For Deceit and Anxiety, formdays meant something different. It wasn’t as special to them. Honestly, Anxiety hardly remembers his formday and barely remarks it’s passing. Usually it was spent like every other day had gone back then. The only significant thing that had ever happened on that day was a deeply personal event shared between Deceit and Anxiety when Anxiety shared his name with him, but that was it.

Other than that? December 19th barely meant anything to him. Really. _ Really. _

So why does he feel different this year?

Maybe it’s because Logic’s formday just passed and it was highly different to anything Anxiety’s ever experienced. They rarely did anything so traditional in the back of Thomas’s mind. The last formday celebration Anxiety remembers was the Duke’s and it’s safe to say that _ that _ had been _ far _from the typical celebration.

They - Morality, Princey, and even _ Thomas _ \- had treated it just like a birthday, really. Only Logic pointed out there were some crucial technical differences, but they were ignored or passed over in favor of celebration. There had even been _ presents. _

He tries to think over that day and the days preceding it in his mind. Maybe there had been something there that had tipped him off?

* * *

Princey had had the foresight to warn him about presents a few weeks in advance, which he had been very thankful for. He would have been hopelessly lost and also been that one person who forgot to bring a gift. Anxiety had been able to hide the depth of his surprise behind his ignorance of when Logic’s birthday was. But really, _ presents? _

They - himself and the other Sides he used to be around - had never given presents. No one knew each other well enough or really cared enough to do so. The closest they had gotten to that was when the Duke would surprise one of them with his latest idea. His ‘gifts’ were rarely appreciated or wanted.

He manages to pull himself together enough to make a gift for Logic. He may not be Creativity, but he _ has _made Thomas soak in some pretty useless information by way of procrastination. This has led to him holding a random assortment of skills which happened to include basic calligraphy.

The sign he makes says _ Logic _ instead of _ Logan _ because he’s still unsure if it’s his place to use that name. He _ does _try to make it seem more personalized by adding as much of a starry background as he can, the darkness of space contrasting against the shade of blue he uses. It’s nowhere near as nice as wished it would be and he’s pretty certain Logic will hate it, but it’s all that he has the night before the Side’s formday so he’s pretty much committed despite the way anxiety makes his heart beat faster whenever he thinks about it too much.

“I’m sure he’ll love it no matter what.” Morality assures him as he mixes some batter together. Anxiety is perched on the counter, headphones resting around his neck rather than on his ears. It’s late, later than the other Sides are usually up and about. Thomas has long since gone to sleep, so there’s really no point to being awake.

These are the hours Anxiety usually spends alone, so it’s weird having company. But Morality had come in and apologized for bothering him, but explained that he wanted to bake while Logic’s asleep so as to keep it as much as a surprise as possible.

“He’s not exactly one for meaningless thanks.” Anxiety points out.

“That’s true.” Morality hums in agreement, opening a cabinet and pulling out a baking sheet that’s clearly used to make cupcakes. “But he’s also one to recognize effort and acknowledge the fact that it was done completely for him.”

“Why are you making cupcakes instead of a cake?” Anxiety asks, derailing the conversation slightly as he confusedly watches Morality place the cup liners in each pocket of the sheet.

“He prefers it,” Morality explains. “It apparently has a better ratio of cake-to-frosting with the added benefit of coming in more convenient, pre-sized portions.” He then shoots Anxiety a knowing smirk. “Plus, he knows that I’ll fill each cupcake with different flavor of Crofter’s.”

“Nerd,” Anxiety says, but his lips twitch up despite himself.

“Yes, but he’s _ our _nerd.” He says before focusing on pouring the batter into each cup liner.

“We _ would _be in trouble without him,” Anxiety agrees, pushing himself off the counter to help steadying the cupcake pan. He feels lighter than he usually does at this hour. “After all, he is Thomas’s singular braincell.”

Morality beams at him. “I always knew he was ex-_cell_-ent!”

Anxiety doesn’t laugh, per se - he hasn’t truly done that in a long time, if ever - but there _ is _an exhale that comes out mostly through his nose in a way not dissimilar to a snort. It seems to be enough for Morality, though, whose grin widens at the sound. The rest of the baking process continues in the same manner: simple conversation happening in the dead of night between the two Sides that’s made lighter with dad-jokes and soft reassurances.

At the end of it all, Anxiety feels better than he has in a long time. Also tired, but it’s that good form of tired that comes from doing something energy-draining but worthwhile.

“‘Night Dad,” He says softly, sleepily giving Morality a slight wave.

Morality preens at the title, “Goodnight kiddo! Make sure to rest up!”

Anxiety has no idea how he’s still so peppy - he suspects a nap or two may have been involved - but still gives him a tired thumbs up before sinking out. He appears on top of his bed and is out like a light within the minute. It’s a deep rest, deeper than he usually has. When he awakes for Logic’s formday he feels far more refreshed than he usually does.

The day itself is a spectacle Anxiety is thankful to witness. He knows there have been formdays that passed by before he forged this new, special connection with the sides in the forefront of the mind, but he had never seen anything besides the aftermath. Besides bits of wrapping paper that had escaped cleanup or evidence of leftover baked goods that were clearly for such an occasion. It was in how one day Morality would have a clearly handmade scrapbook or how suddenly Princey would have a dazzling red cape with his emblem plastered on it. 

He had imagined what it would be like - the celebration, the food, the presents. The overall excitement that would fill the air, the smiles shared, the memories that were taking shape.

It’s far beyond anything imagined. Granted, there’s a _ reason _he’s not Creativity. 

Logic does a remarkable job at displaying thankfulness and genuine appreciation while holding up his ‘I’ve never felt anything once in my life’ charade. The mask is pretty well done, but Anxiety sees how he hesitates for a moment after opening each gift, the façade slipping for just a moment as wonder and surprise come over him. There’s a split second where one can see he’s truly touched by the time and effort and sentiment each of them put in for him.

He likes Anxiety’s gift. Anxiety can tell, can’t miss it with his observation skills being dialed up due to his, well, _ anxiety. _ He likes it and when Anxiety passes by the door later it’s hung up, proudly displaying the owner of the room. He already has plans on making similar ones for Morality and Princey, although he’s unsure if he should put _ Creativity _ or _ Princey _ or _ The Prince _for the latter. He has over half a year, but the decision is still itching at him.

But overall? Yeah, it’s a good day. A really good day.

* * *

Logic’s formday had been a good day. One that had _ absolutely _ no reason to make him feel what he is feeling now, sitting in the Commons and watching as Princey and Logic discuss the most socially acceptable time to start putting up Christmas decorations. No reason to make him have to suppress a flinch when Princey points out _ why not, it’s not like there are any other holidays that Thomas celebrates or observes before then- _

_ Why not, _ Anxiety repeats bitterly to himself, before his mental voice takes on Princey’s tone. _ There’s nothing important before then. _He imagines him saying.

And it’s stupid. It’s stupid because it’s false there are other holidays and observations and stuff there that are important even if Thomas isn’t observing them. It’s stupid because Princey wouldn’t say it like that so bluntly. It’s stupid because it’s not like he has ever celebrated his formday before, or that the others even _ know _when it is.

It’s _ stupid _ because he hadn’t even really been _ formed _ at all. Forced, is what he says. Forced into existence. Forced, forced, _ forced, should have just faded- _

He mentally yanks himself away from _ that _ train of thought. He’s been getting better about distancing himself from that type of thinking, although progress is slow and sometimes he slips back into old, unhealthy habits. Still, the others have been patient and helpful and he’s being _ stupid _ and _ ungrateful _because he can’t handle Princey hanging up a bit of tinsel a few weeks before Christmas.

Well, that’s a bit of an under-exaggeration. Princey does _ not _ go that reserved with the decorating after announcing that social acceptance doesn’t actually matter, since they’re, well, not really people. He takes that as an excuse to, well, _ go off. _

The Commons looks like a winter wonderland, honestly. Anxiety’s only prior experience with the holiday is the Duke’s seasonal outbursts, rants about commercialism from Deceit, and himself having to take a step forward because buying gifts _ and _socializing with extended family? Yeah, that definitely overlaps with his area.

So yeah, it’s nice to have a chance to really celebrate it this year. 

Still, despite it all, something inside him feels…odd. Hollow.

Of _ course _they wouldn’t celebrate his formday. None of them know it and, if they did, they'd know it wasn’t technically right to call it that. He’s different from them, which means no formday and no name. He needs to just deal with it and stop getting overdramatic over things that don’t matter.

Still, he can’t remove his mind from the matter. It’s there as he sits and watches Logic draw up Thomas’s schedule, making idle comments like _ double-check that time _ or _ we can’t do that that day. _The ones of the former are mostly useless as Logic always is correct, but the latter are more important. He’s the only one who Logic really lets give input on the schedule, because he’ll tell him if Thomas is overbooked. Logic, well, kind of has to listen to him, because if Thomas gets too stressed then Anxiety’s going to get too influential and they’ll ultimately get nothing done. By taking in his contributions, Logic’s controlling another variable.

His thoughts still stray as he watches Morality make peppermint bark. He’s personally not the biggest fan of peppermint, but Morality looks so excited and apparently it’s tradition so he’ll just have to bear it when the time comes. He’s been coming to the kitchen more since Logic’s formday, typically finding a sense of peace watching Morality work.

He’s still unfocused while he observes Princey making gingerbread houses. They’re more like mansions, honestly, and it’s kind of fascinating to see how elaborate Princey makes each one. Anxiety will never admit it, but it’s not until Princey’s on the second mansion that Anxiety realizes he’s making one for each of them. Thomas is the most elaborate and largest and is _ completely _rainbow.

“Gay,” he drawls, a smile on his face despite himself. Princey grins at him.

“Thank you!” He exclaims, before going back to carefully putting the finishing touches on the roof of Logic’s.

“But seriously,” Anxiety says, his voice quieter and his eyes focused downwards. In his hoodie pocket he’s pressing the buttons on the fidget cube Princey had passed him a few days ago when the oncoming holidays started to really get to him. It’s more helpful than he had expected. “They look incredible, Princey.”

Princey pauses, and Anxiety can hear the smile in his voice even if he doesn’t hear it. “Thank you, Anxiety.”

Anxiety leaves that social interaction with the rare feeling of success. It’s an odd sort of exhilaration he rarely received. Still, though, his mind is drawn towards the thought that his formday is in less than a week. Towards the inevitability of it slipping past unnoticed.

So, it’s quite a surprise when it just…doesn’t.

It’s the night before when he hears the familiar sound of a something sliding under his door. He peeks over the blankets that had been previously covering his face to see a card lying on the ground a few feet away. Had Logic wrongly assumed he had had an anxiety attack? No, this card was different, and even from here he could tell that it wasn’t Logic’s handwriting. Actually, it looked more like-

He freezes for a moment, before scrambling to get out of bed and pick up the card.

_ See you tomorrow. Clear your schedule. Normal meeting spot. Door’s open. _

It’s Deceit’s handwriting. Anxiety would know it anywhere.

He holds the card tightly in his hand. The vague words send a wave of apprehension through him, but there’s not as much nervousness there as there would be if it was from anyone else. This is _Deceit, _and for all of his lies and disguises and everything, he’d _never_ hurt Anxiety. It’d go against his very nature.

_ See you tomorrow _ . He hasn’t seen Deceit in years. Not since he asked for the favor, since he traded his happiness, traded being _ Virgil, _for something far more important.

_ Virgil. _ He’s been trying to avoid thinking about that. He’s gone back and forth in his mind if the goal the name signifies is truly attainable or not. _ Yes, _ because the other Sides listen and care about him now. _ No, _because nothing can make up for all that he’s done and all the mistakes he continues to make.

_ Maybe, _because he’s started to think that more good things are possible than he previously considered.

He writes his own note that night. It’s not to anyone in particular, just in case his absence is noted. He puts it on the table in his living room (because the term ‘room’ for their areas is rather lacking, it’s more like their own copies of Thomas’s own home) where it will be clearly visible.

His card says nowhere near as much as Deceit’s, although they’d look similar in vagueness if viewed by anyone else. But Anxiety knows how to read Deceit in a way few others can, knows how to read between the lines and through the lies and see the truth there. Deceit knows that Anxiety will overanalyze and overthink and look for meaning in everything, so he places meaning there. They compliment each other in those ways.

(There are other ways where they conflict and there are other reasons why Anxiety and Deceit know each other so well beyond trust.)

(Anxiety chooses not to think about that right now.)

He looks over the card Deceit had left again. It says a lot of things. Deceit’s script, neat and precise, says that he’ll be _ Deceit _instead of the name Anxiety has forced himself to pretend he’s forgotten. Still, the fact that the ink is golden on the black background says that he’ll be wearing his colors. Anxiety’ll have to pull out his old outfit.

The words themselves, of course, have double meanings as well.

_ See you tomorrow. _ Deceit’s going to talk to Anxiety tomorrow, whether Anxiety is willing to or not. It’s fair - they _ do _need to talk. It’s been too long. Even if it’s not a social visit, their areas crossover too much for this self-imposed separation.

_ Clear your schedule. _Deceit’s still a bit bitter about everything. He knows Anxiety doesn’t have a schedule, but Logic does. It’s a jab, one meant to be pointed towards Anxiety leaving the back of the mind for the forefront. It stings a bit, but it’s not undeserved. He honestly had expected worst.

_ Normal meeting spot. _It won’t be a fight or an argument or anything of the sort. Or at least, it’s not plan on being something like that. Their old meeting spot has too many memories to taint it like that.

_ Door’s open. _There’s a plan in place to distract the Sides Anxiety now finds himself surrounded by. It won’t be anything big or special - there would be additional instructions if so - but enough that they’ll be out of their rooms. Anxiety’s entrance to Imagination, subtle as it will be, won’t be felt.

He sighs to himself before forcing himself to put down the card. It’s late, late enough that it could also be called early. He brings himself to get to bed, leaving behind the two cards. The one with gold script is hidden, tucked safely away away from eyes. The opposite is true for the other one, the one with a messy black scrawl on plain white paper. That one, in its ambiguity, is displayed openly. It’s almost ironic - the one he hides is the only one that was assured to be seen, while there’s a chance that no one will ever see the other one and the words written on it.

Oh well, he thinks, it doesn’t really matter. The words were only for the situation where the others got so curious or concerned that they entered his (unlocked, he didn’t want Thomas to have to be bothered over this) room. He’s Anxiety, after all. He plans for every outcome.

_ Out. Be back tomorrow. Don’t look for me. Summon if emergency. _


	4. i know i said i’d keep my distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anxiety looks down. “Doesn’t mean we’re alive.” He mumbles.
> 
> “And that means it means _ nothing,_” Deceit drawls, before shaking his head. “I certainly meant to get sidetracked like that. Don’t deflect, Anxiety.”
> 
> “I wasn’t trying to deflect.”
> 
> “Has it really been so long that you’ve forgotten that you can’t lie to me?” He murmurs, and Anxiety pretends he can’t hear it and doesn’t look up from the rock.
> 
> Deceit just sighs at the silence and turns his gaze back to the river. “I...I know that I don’t know all your reasons for…” He trails off, gesturing vaguely with a yellow gloved hand. “But...I would like to propose a ceasefire for today.”
> 
> “A ceasefire?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Additional Warnings Apply for this Chapter, HOWEVER this is the first time that Virgil's actions of 'ducking out' are referred to in a manner like one would describe a suicide attempt. It's brief but there.
> 
> [Title from “Dream Alone” by Nathan Sharp]

He wakes up early the next day. Deceit never clarified a time, but Anxiety knows sunrise is far too early. Besides, he’ll most likely be able to tell the time by whatever plan is in place that will distract the others.

The distraction isn’t exactly vital or even entirely necessarily, but it’s easier. Any Side besides Princey or the Duke entering Imagination can be gently felt in the back of all of their minds. It’s subtle and therefore may be dismissed, but if they register it then it would doubtlessly lead to questions he doesn’t want to answer.

Sure enough, Princey is feeling particularly _ energized _ in the late morning. He’s practically bouncing off the walls, _ buzzing _ with ideas. Anxiety realizes that it must be from whatever threads still invisibly connect the two halves of Creativity. He wonders if this means that the Duke is _ also _particularly energized or the opposite.

Either way, though, it’s a suitable distraction. Logic is trying to sort through the flurry of ideas and Morality is occupied with the dozen puppies Princey’s summoned. They definitely won’t notice his disappearance like this. Even if they do, they’ll probably brush it off as him being scared off by the noise or something. It wouldn’t be accurate - he’s fine with the noise, it’s the fact that there’s so much _ energy _that makes his skin crawl. 

Well, _ okay, _he also doesn’t like the noise.

He sinks down and pops into Imagination. He messes up the aim a bit, due to how long it’s been. His spot with Deceit is in the middle of the forest, far from any of the ever-changing paths, but he knows how to get there with ease. He’s walked the way there far too many times to not know. Besides, he entered this part of the mind only a short distance away. 

He steps into the small clearing. Deceit is already there, perched on one of the rocks directly in the sunlight. He’s staring at the river, his scales glinting in the sunlight.

Anxiety bites his lip and doesn’t step any closer.

“You can come over, you know,” Deceit drawls after a few moments. He turns to look at Anxiety, the familiar confident drawl clear in his voice. “I don’t bite.”

Anxiety swallows and takes a deep breath before moving forwards. The grass glitters with dew, but none gets on him. The sun is beating down on them, but he doesn’t feel too hot. He walks forwards to the shore of the riverbank where they always meet, his eyes trailing over the snapdragons and the ivy sprigs of white tendrils. They had planted them here long ago to mark it as _ their _place. Not Anxiety and Deceit’s, but Virgil and…and that name Anxiety doesn’t let himself think anymore.

_ “Do you know what you’re asking of me, Anxiety?” _

_ “Of course I do, Deceit.” _

That day had been the first time he had called Deceit _ Deceit _ since _ he _ had told him his name. And if he had thought that hearing _ Anxiety _ had hurt him, it was nothing worse than seeing Deceit’s face after he called him that. The hurt there, the _ depth _of it and the fact that it wasn’t hidden by any sort of masks or illusions… 

It had been an in-between of sorts. A twilight, a purgatory, a doorway. To hear _ Anxiety _ and say _ Deceit _ but see that look, the level of _ trust _that openness spoke to-

Focus. _ Focus. _ This isn’t meant to be a bad day. That doesn’t mean it can’t _ become _one, but-

“Breathe,” Deceit’s sharp command is clear and loud in his ears. Deceit always knows how to garner attention, how to take control of a room without a word or the attention of the anxious instinct without trouble. “You’re spiralling.”

“I’m not spiralling.” He says, his voice only shaking slightly. It comes out unthinkingly, before his mind even truly registers any of the words he’s hearing.

“Don’t insult me.” Deceit snaps back with a slight hiss.

_I won’t. I wouldn’t. I never wanted to. I didn’t mean to if I did. I don’t know why you-_

He pushes those thoughts away and focuses on his breathing pattern. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Repeat three times. Is he okay? Yes. Well, no, but _ enough. _

“Why’d you want to meet me?” He asks once he’s able to keep his voice steady. He sits down on the rock and tries to pretend he hasn’t sat here a thousand times before. Tries to pretend like this doesn’t already feel like a rough, inaccurate mockery of a hundred other days.

“No reason,” Deceit lies casually, stretching his limbs and adjusting his position on his own rock to face Anxiety. His sharp, mismatched eyes look over him carefully.

Anxiety quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, so I’m guessing that today just _ happens _to be my version of a formday is a coincidence?”

“Of course. I don’t even know what a formday is.” Deceit tells him nonchalantly, a juxtaposition to how attentive he appears. 

Anxiety’s face softens as several things click. He’s always been good at reading between Deceit’s lines - or, rather, between Deceit’s _ lies. _ “I’m fine.”

“You tried to _ fade, _ Anxiety.” Deceit snaps, standing up suddenly, his whole demeanor shifting in an instant. “I am _ self-preservation. _ Did you think I wouldn’t notice when suddenly Thomas’s fight-or-flight response was just...gone? You want to be where the magic happens, that’s fine. But when you try to _ kill yourself-” _

“We’re not real.” Anxiety reminds him, as if that’s the most important thing they’re discussing.

“Oh, and that certainly means we’re not alive. I’ve never seen any liveliness in any Side. Especially not either half of Creativity, and _ certainly _ not Morality.” Deceit moves over, closer to the riverbed and halfway between his previous position and Anxiety. He stares over the rushing water, a snarl just barely touching his lips. “This is all so _ fake. _It’s not like any of us can affect the real world.”

“We can’t.”

“Exactly. So when you have a panic attack or when Creativity has a block or Morality a depression…” He shakes his head, a strange smile on his face as he meets Anxiety’s eyes once more. “Nothing happens.”

Anxiety looks down on the rock. He runs his fingers over a pair of gouges there. He remembers how they came to be. It feels like lifetimes ago, but in reality it was only a handful of years. “Doesn’t mean we’re alive.” He mumbles.

“And that means we mean_ nothing,” _Deceit drawls, before shaking his head. “I certainly meant to get sidetracked like that. Don’t deflect, Anxiety.”

“I wasn’t trying to deflect.”

“Has it really been so long that you’ve forgotten that you can’t lie to me?” He murmurs, and Anxiety pretends he can’t hear it and doesn’t look up from the rock. He runs his fingers over the gouges again and again, as if he can erode them himself just in this one day. 

Deceit just sighs at the silence and turns his gaze back to the river. “I...I know that I don’t know all your reasons for…” He trails off, gesturing vaguely with a yellow gloved hand. He tries not to let his eyes be drawn by the movement, but it's futile and a moment later he’s inadvertently meeting Deceit’s heterochromatic eyes. “And I know that we share a mutual detachment towards our formdays. But...I would like to propose a ceasefire for today.”

“A ceasefire?” He knew they weren’t on the best terms, but he hadn’t thought their relationship was bad enough that _ that _terminology needed to be used. As the most extreme metaphor, he would liken it more to a cold war than an active battlefield.

Then again, Deceit always had had a flair for dramatics that Anxiety just didn’t have.

“Not like the way you doubtlessly just assumed,” Deceit says, a slight trace of humor in his voice. He wonders briefly if it’s genuine. It hurts more that Anxiety can’t tell anymore. “A ceasefire against _ yourself. _Just because I didn’t come with you doesn’t mean I’m unaware of what you’ve been doing. You’re changing, which means you’ve doubtlessly been at war with yourself.”

_ Doesn’t mean I’m unaware of what you’ve been doing. _

_ You know, _ he wants to say, but doesn’t. _ You know that I’m still thinking about it. _

_ Of course I do, _ he can practically _ hear _ Deceit reply. _ I’m self-preservation. It’s my business to know. _

“Something tells me I’m not the only one who needs a ceasefire,” He says instead, looking Deceit over. His façade is impeccable, after all, because if there’s one thing Deceit’s always been able to act as it’s as _ himself _\- or, rather, what he believes himself to be.

“Perhaps,” Deceit says noncommittally. He doubtlessly knows that a direct lie would not work against Anxiety with their shared history and Anxiety doubts that the truth about this is really an option for him currently. He’s too fired up for that. “So, what is your response to my proposition?”

He extends a hand. Anxiety stares at it.

He has no idea what taking it means. He knows for a fact Deceit has not forgiven him. He has not forgiven himself. He’s also upset with Deceit for another reason entirely, but feeling angry about that’s so distant that he doesn’t want to reprocess that enough to try and forgive Deceit. That’s a separate problem entirely - one more for Virgil and…

He cuts that line of thought off abruptly. The hand has not moved.

He _ knows _that taking it doesn’t mean things are back to how they used to be. He knows there’s no chance of that part of themselves, of that relationship to come back from the dead. Because it’s just that - dead. They both killed it in little ways, of course, but Anxiety landed the final blow the day he asked the impossible of Deceit and left Virgil behind for good.

He knows a lot about what it doesn’t mean, but he doesn’t know what it means.

He looks at Deceit and takes his hand. He squeezes it once. Deceit squeezes back.

“Now then,” Deceit says, a smile on his lips softer than it has since Anxiety came to the river. “We have a formday to celebrate.”

* * *

There are no gifts. At least, physical ones that is. Or is it metaphysical? Anxiety doesn’t know. He doesn’t particularly care about the nuances of their existence like that. Well, okay, that’s a lie - he just doesn’t particularly care enough to redirect his focus onto it right now.

It’s not like the formday of Logic. It’s not loud and joyous and full of sweets and presents and activities. How could it be? Deceit and Anxiety are not like any of them at all. There’s nowhere for that kind of light to come from between two Sides that have lingered in the blackness of the back of the mind for so long.

It doesn’t matter though. They’ve always known how to make do in the dark.

They spend a while by the river, silently soaking in each other’s presence and trying to find some sort of stabilization between the them of before and who they both are now, far separated. They do not let go of each other’s hand.

Eventually, they stand and move and do other things. Deceit reads Macbeth to him and does all the voices by mimicking the performers at the show Thomas had seen a decade ago. The memory is faded, so there’s a bit more of Deceit in there than there would be with a complete impersonation, but it’s okay. It’s not like Deceit’s ever shied away from drama. 

Anxiety snatches his capelet at one point in the reading, much to the self-preservation instinct’s chagrin. He’s powerless to stop him, however, as he’s already begun Lady Macbeth’s speech and Anxiety knows nothing short of Thomas suddenly being in mortal danger will get him to break character now. Anxiety runs the fabric over in his fingers, and conjures up a needle and thread to replace the small holes and frayed edges that have been acquired over time.

Really, the day consists of activities like that. Calm and personal and just...simple things between the two instinctive Sides that used to be so close. It truly does feel like a ceasefire, if Anxiety’s honest with himself, as even if he doesn’t get truly _ calm _during it (which is just shy of impossible, due to his trait), he gets pretty close to it. 

He’s really grateful it’s so simple, as if it was anything too extravagant he’d be jumpy and tense - and on the off chance he _ did _ get into it, the fall back to their new routine would hurt like a blow. This way, when he and Deceit part ways quietly at the end of the day, it doesn’t feel so much as a _ goodbye forever _and more like...being finished with looking back on an old memory. 

And for as much as Anxiety hates nostalgia, he thinks he can make an exception this one time.

* * *

The others both notice and don’t notice his absence.

He gets the sense his door had probably been knocked on and soft calls spoken his way, but none of them willing to open the door into his piece of the mind until more than twenty-four hours passed. When he sees them again, there are faint traces of relief and a few small questions, but nothing major.

The note was unmoved. He doesn’t know why he even made one. Of _ course _they wouldn’t enter his room so soon if he went completely silent. He’s expressed the fact that sometimes he needs hard boundaries and solitude. The Sides have never looked particularly pleased at his requests to be aware of this and give him the necessary time alone, but they’ve certainly never crossed those lines or openly argued. Respectful to a fault, the forefront Sides are. 

There’s also the incoming holidays to think of. After all, his birthday is less than a week before Christmas. From the few questions they do ask and the sudden lack of blasting Christmas music around the common area, he gets the sense that they had thought he was overstimulated and stressed by the upcoming holiday-that’s-technically-a-really-big-deadline. 

And they certainly would not be incorrect by that assumption by any means - he and Deceit had spent a good chunk of his formday criticizing the social pressure (Anxiety) and commercialism (Deceit) the supposedly “best time of the year” brought. They certainly _ never _celebrated the holiday, although there were Sides in the back of Thomas’s mind who did, in their own ways. Anxiety typically tried to steer clear of all of those, however, not willing to get involved in trying to start or stop anything.

The primary outcome of commercial holidays is stress. Anxiety knows that better than anyone.

Which is why he is not a fan of being summoned to his Center for _ holiday celebrations. _ Apparently it would be best to be able to make another one of their vlogs for Christmas day, and Princey seemingly has a _ profound _idea.

Anxiety wants to go back to his room already. He voices it. He is denied.

He hates this. He hates everything about this. He hates the holidays and the fake smiles and social pressures and everything associated with Christmas-

He...doesn’t hate the sweater Princey and Morality give him. He’ll admit it. It’s...cool. Gray and black just like the sweatshirt he wears with tinges of faint yellow and - to his surprise - purple in an attempt to seemingly blend together Christmas and Halloween. Halloween, the one holiday they have an inkling he likes because they’ve been his room, _ seen _ the decorations and posters and...remembered. They remembered and incorporated it into a gift that they _ gave _him.

Okay, so _ maybe _ Anxiety doesn’t protest as much as he could afterwards. Maybe, just _ maybe, _he warms up a bit to this so-called ‘holiday spirit’.

He still hates the song though. It was awkward and unbearable and he’s _ not _one for singing besides the little part of him that is because it’s a part of Thomas like he is. He’s at least grateful that Logic switched spots with him at the beginning without question, simply giving him a curious look before stepping forward and letting Anxiety stand next to Morality. If that hadn’t happened, he’s pretty sure he’d have ducked out and fled to his room long before the song was over.

Thankfully - and to his own surprise - he makes it through the whole venture. He goes to leave when the most of it’s over. Typically, after something like this Princey and Logic stay behind to talk to Thomas into how exactly they’re going to present it, what the script will look like, etc. Anxiety knows a decent amount of it is pre-planned, such as the song itself and the sweaters, but also that Princey and Thomas always end up presenting it to the rest of them far too close to the deadline for Anxiety _ or _ Logic’s liking. Already he can practically feel the stress rising in him, - it’s nearly Christmas and they haven’t even gotten all of the presents, and _ now _a video? It’s like Princey’s asking for-

“Hey kiddo, can you wait a sec before popping out on your pop?” He is snapped out of his thoughts by Morality, looking at him with a smile on his face and his posture loose and relaxed as he partially leans on the railing of the staircase with one hand. 

“Yeah, what’s up?” He asks, unconsciously tugging down the ends of his sleeves even further. This sweater isn’t as oversized as his sweatshirt, but it is just enough that it can provide some of the comforts as the black hoodie. Not that either as close to as comfortable as his old hoodie-

No. He shouldn’t think about that. He needs to focus on the present.

“Well, Roman had this neato idea for us to do a Secret Santa with each other!” Morality tells him, clearly excited at the prospect, before hastily adding, “And he knows it’s almost Christmas, so it’d be something small and we probably wouldn’t exchange until a few days after, because Thomas is going to be busy, but he wanted to know what you think?” Morality gets significantly more excited as he talks, his stance nearly bouncy by the end of it. Anxiety doesn’t even know if that’s how that word could be used, but it’s the only way he could even start to describe it. His sentence also becomes a bit more convoluted, and it takes Anxiety a second to take in the new information. 

He passively notes that it is a good thing Logic is occupied; Anxiety might not be an expert in grammar himself, but he’s pretty sure the father-like Side broke enough rules to warrant a lecture from the intellectual Side.

He blinks as the meaning of the words click into his mind. “A Secret Santa?”

“Yeah! Y’know, like the one Thomas did with his friends?” Morality says, and yes, Anxiety does know. It was a source of anxiety, especially due to the procrastination of it all. His confusion wasn’t the result of a lack of understanding of the meaning of the phrase, but rather _ why _ he was included in the first place. Did they really want _ him _of all Sides to partake in the festivities?

But they _ do _ , apparently, because _ Morality _is asking him. And Morality doesn’t lie - at least intentionally, and in Anxiety’s own personal experience of the matter. Morality would get nothing out of lying. 

“Yeah, I know,” Anxiety murmurs back, his eyes not meeting the other Side’s exactly but also not cemented to the ground beneath them. “Sounds fun.” It doesn’t. It sounds like another thing to think about, to worry about, to obsess over in the middle of the night. 

But Anxiety isn’t Morality. Anxiety does lie, because he cares too much about everything and knows that in this moment if he refuses Morality will back off. They’ll all back off and won’t bother him but also he won’t be _ there _ and _ included _and he’s so tired of being lonely.

So he agrees without giving himself too much time to think too much, because then all the reasons he _ shouldn’t _ and then the pros will battle the cons and he’ll get stuck in the middle without the capability of actually _ making _ the decision. Then it will be awkward and Morality will probably get annoyed or frustrated or worst of all _ concerned _and it’ll just be a mess and - 

Morality is talking again. He’s absolutely _ beaming _ and Anxiety can fill in the gaps to get that he’s talking about how excited he is to do this. He just manages to catch that they’ll most likely pick names tonight, which is good because it’s soon and gives Anxiety overall more time to figure out what he’s going to do but it’s also _ bad _because he hasn’t had time to mentally prepare himself.

Thankfully, he’s able to slip out after that without further social interaction. Just as he sinks out he sees Morality bounding over to where the other two Sides are talking to their Center, easily jumping into the conversation there as if he had always been a part of it.

Anxiety sits on the back of the couch in his corner of Thomas’s mind and silently deliberates how awkward he is (very), how he’ll absolutely mess up this Secret Santa and they’ll all be disappointed but pretend to be proud or whatever (inevitable), and compares just how different he and Morality are (so many ways) for the next several hours.

(There are other things he thinks of as well, but those are the highlights.)

* * *

The actual picking of the names goes fine, with him not messing up or making anything too awkward. The only hitch is when Logic makes Princey rewrite his, because _ creativity _doesn’t always equal intelligence and the Side had attempted to color code each of their papers to make it all less plain. Thankfully, it was sorted out quick enough without any input from himself, and they all drew names.

He got Morality.

Which is good, because he’d be hard-pressed to impress Princey, one of Thomas’s actual _ manifestations of Creativity _and he just got Logic a gift.

Which is bad, because Morality is always so nice and supportive and any possible gift he gives will fall horribly flat. That he won’t live up to whatever expectations he set with Logic’s gift and they’ll be disappointed. Maybe Morality will take it personally and start to think Anxiety doesn’t like him-

_ Breathe. _He reminds himself gently, forcing himself to inhale slowly before exhaling. He’s glad he slipped away from the others after quickly checking he didn’t get himself, because now he has time to settle himself in private.

He places the piece of paper on the coffee table in the living room that mimic’s Thomas’s own, just darker and more personalized to Anxiety specifically. The curly, messy but endearing _ Patton _stares back at him. He briefly wonders if Morality would have written his name if he had known that Anxiety was the one destined to pick him. The thought leaves his mind soon after it appears, not worth lingering on for now. 

For now, he focuses on what to get Morality. He has to decide on something, create it, and then have it all prepared by their assigned due date. He also has to watch over Thomas and make sure his Center’s Christmas celebrations go smoothly, because even if he is not the biggest fan of the season that doesn’t mean _ Thomas _should suffer for it. He also needs to make sure the video they’re working on is completed in time. They should be able to film everything in a day if they’re on task enough.

He also-

He takes another deep breath.

_ “Just because I didn’t come with you doesn’t mean I’m unaware of what you’ve been doing. You’re changing, which means you’ve doubtlessly been at war with yourself.” _

He also needs to stop distancing himself from the memories of his formday. _ Flight _ might be part of him, but so is _ fight. _ Or, rather, _ confrontation _ in this scenario. He keeps running from Deceit’s words, but it’s not working. They’re not going away and they’re not _ going _to go away until he realizes what about it is so stubbornly sticking to him.

Besides the obvious, that is.

He lets out a slow exhale. His finger starts tapping on the table without him really thinking about it, tapping out a steady rhythm that he’s come to start breathing in tune with when he gets overwhelmed.

_ Just because I didn’t come with you. _Anxiety hadn’t asked Deceit to come with him. Not because he didn’t want the other instinct at his side - the opposite, in fact. With Deceit around, something inside of him feels settled. It makes sense, given what they both represent in Thomas’s mind. 

But he didn’t invite Deceit, because he _ couldn’t. _ He was asking far, _ far _ too much with just his own acts. To ask Deceit to do the same, to follow him? Deceit would never had agreed. They both liked to watch over the other Sides and aspects (parts of Thomas not developed enough to be _ Sides, _ but still existing nonetheless) residing in the back of Thomas’s mind. He had been able to let go of that because he knew he was needed on the forefront, knew that he could be helping Thomas _ more _if he could just talk to the Center directly.

Deceit was never one for the spotlight. He was an instinct, and not a loud one like Anxiety. One that changes and adapts and slips on by in the shadows. Deceit would never come unless Thomas _ really _ needed him to. Not for anything else. Not for _ anyone _else.

So they had both let each other go, and Anxiety had stepped into the light while Deceit remained in the darkness.

And Deceit’s right - he _ is _changing with being in the light.

He takes another breath and shakes himself out of his thoughts. He can’t do anything like this.

He mentally checks the time, or at least the estimation he had based on Thomas’s perception of it. The others were probably still hashing out the newest episode. Watching Logic and Princey work together is something to do other than letting him wallow with his thoughts. It’s productive because he can do his own input and feel like he’s actually making a positive contribution, and it’s just also...nice. Nice being there, with the others. Nice not feeling like a monster or a villain or just something dark and ugly when he’s in their presence.

He taps the paper he drew with Morality’s name on it and it disappears. He doesn’t want anyone accidentally finding it and the Secret Santa being ruined just because Anxiety didn’t account for someone entering his room. Not that anyone would, but _ still. _He’s the cautious one for a reason.

He then pulls up his hoods and sinks out. 

He’ll figure everything else out another time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its getting to the point where im both glad im sticking to anxiety's pov and both really, really wishing i could show deceit's pov on this.
> 
> hopefully ill get to "can lying be good?" next chap!!! i have a lot of ideas for it but nothing concrete. idk if you could tell but the first half of this was written a while ago (the half where deceit actually appeared - it was made before the previous chapter was posted) and the rest was written like this week because i realized i didnt want to make the chapter so short. ill try to get the next chapter up in a timely manner but emphasis on the 'try' part of it. i didnt plan on it taking a month for this one, that was just a coincidence, so i really can't give any estimate on the next one.
> 
> thank you in advance for your patience!! <3


	5. look who’s digging their own grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s about to sink out and pop in in front of the staircase at the Commons, decision made, when suddenly he realizes that he’s not alone.
> 
> “Anxiety.” Deceit says, looking considerably different from the last time Anxiety had seen him, and not in a positive way. He looks..._tired._
> 
> (Anxiety thinks he’s not the only one who had trouble sleeping last night.)
> 
> “Deceit.” He says, his voice full of caution and carefulness as he draws whatever vulnerability he let himself show in the safety of his room into himself. “Why are you here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO ADDITIONAL WARNINGS APPLY
> 
> [Title from "Icarus" by Bastille]

He blames his lack of creativity on the fact that he is, quite literally,  _ Anxiety.  _ The only creativity that ever comes up in his department is usually more on brand with the more Duke levels of imagination than Princey’s.

In his defense, he is technically deviating from his previous gift to Logic. Sure, it is the same basic skill, but everything else was just so uncertain. He does hold several other tricks up his sleeves that could make a more original gift, but those all lead into uncharted territory. In contrast to all of them, he  _ knows  _ Morality likes his calligraphy. The Side had said so himself. He had and he hadn’t lied. Even if he forgets it sometimes, Anxiety knows what lying looks like and even though it looks different on different people (or rather, different Sides) he still  _ knows. _

He knows Morality likes this trick of his, so why go to another? Something new,  _ uncertain?  _ Something Morality might not like, something he might lie about?

If he’s honest with himself - and he knows he not always is, but he tries to be when he can - he hates that he is unable to change. To deviate, to put himself out there and be bold. He hates that it’s just not in the cards for him. But at the same time he feels a relief set so deep that it’s melded and mixed with his very being, because it  _ is.  _ He’s  _ Anxiety.  _ Not change or boldness or-

Or Virgil. 

(Or anything more than what he is.)

He gives Morality a card with a misleading compliment and wonders why he feels guilty whenever he looks at his signature at the end of it. Just a simple line and then his messy scrawl of  _ Anxiety.  _ No pleasantries or nice farewell message or even a  _ “from”. _

* * *

The day-to-day routine shifts again.

The video gets out on time, Morality likes his gift, and Anxiety doesn’t feel guilty or inadequate for just getting him a simple card because he actually gets one in return. With a bright, beaming smile and an energetic movement, Morality actually hands  _ him  _ a card in return, because they got each other and they both seemingly were struck with the same idea. 

Things go  _ well  _ and things change more as a result, which are two things Anxiety didn’t think he’d ever associate with each other, but somehow it works.

He finds himself hanging out with the others more than not now. He discovers something new in his relationship with them as the feeling of  _ them vs me  _ begins to truly fade. Spending time with them each day feels more and more like a given. He attends dinner semi-regularly, even if he doesn’t always eat. He doesn’t usually see the point - they’re not  _ real  _ and don’t need to. 

(It’s a sentiment he keeps to himself though, after the first murmuring of it led to Princey and Morality shooting each other a look he doesn’t recognize but decidedly isn’t fond of. Logic, for his part, had looked thoughtful, and had opened his mouth doubtlessly to discuss it when Princey quickly changed the subject. 

Message received on that front. He’ll keep quiet until he figures out what about it they look so concerned about. It isn’t just a simple disagreement. Their expressions had looked far too similar to what Deceit had looked like when Anxiety saw him last, which means there is something  _ more  _ that Anxiety just simply isn’t seeing.)

His efforts to join them more seem to make the others happy, so he figures out he can’t be making too many mistakes. They’re easy to like, whether it be because they’re all different parts of the same whole or just because he can’t help getting attached to others, he doesn’t know. It still works, though. He might not innately understand them as much as he did Deceit, but that doesn’t mean there can’t be any understanding there. It just requires more communication, and he’s learning that that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It doesn’t make him irritating or annoying or a bother.

Things are changing and Anxiety’s starting to really like it.

So, of  _ course _ , that’s when things all come crashing down.

* * *

It’s hard to describe what true, unadulterated  _ panic  _ feels like when talking about Anxiety specifically. Sure, they’re parts of the same whole, which means there’s some things that cross over. It’s not like Morality is devoid of logic or Princey doesn’t get worried at all. 

However, as Anxiety, panic is his  _ thing.  _ He doesn’t feel it solely in small doses like the others do - he  _ can,  _ of course, and frequently does - but can also feel the all-encompassing panic, the form-freezing wave of worry.

This is what Thomas feels the moment he realizes that he’s missing out on the reading of the play Joan’s been working tirelessly on.

For that moment, there’s nothing else but him. Every part of him feels like it's simultaneously frozen and in a raging inferno at once. Everything arounds him ceases to exist and the only thing that he can focus on is the fact that  _ how could this happen, they’re going to be so upset, everything is ruined, years of friendship gone down the drain- _

The moment passes, of course, but the feelings don’t completely fade. They just dull.

He leaves his room quickly. He  _ needs  _ to fix this.

It’s not that simple though.

Because it’s not like before. He’s not the loudest one in this part of Thomas’s mind. As soon as he goes to yell at Thomas to  _ run, go, minimize the damage  _ Princey’s there. Princey’s there saying things like  _ it’s okay, it’s too late anyway, Joan’ll forgive Thomas, let’s enjoy what’s happening right now.  _ Logic’s there too, a silent observer (albeit unwillingly so). He’s not the only one - Morality’s there too. He’s clearly upset, wanting to interfere with their fighting, but looks conflicted and is ultimately unable to find an opening between the two that he can use to enter the conversation.

It becomes truly too late after some time, the two Sides locked in a stalemate that gives Princey the advantage. Anxiety growls and Princey insults and suddenly it feels like they’re both back at square one.

But then Logic finally steps in,  _ literally.  _ He moves and stands directly between the two of them, a hand out to either side as if to properly hold them away if needed. There’s no anger on his face, but there is a slight frown and narrowed eyes. He’s not visibly mad, but Anxiety can’t help the cold wave of fear that he’s pissed off the logical Side wash through him. 

“You both have devolved from the true matter at hand.” Logic says firmly, his words leaving no space for either of them to interrupt. “It is getting late, and Thomas needs to sleep soon. It would be for the benefit of  _ all  _ parties if this discussion were to be postponed until morning. Perhaps that will allow you both to have a clearer look on the matter.”

He wants to protest and he can tell Princey does as well, but Logic is standing firm as if he’s an immovable object and Anxiety knows he’s far more powerless than the unstoppable force needed to move through him.

So he looks away, pulls up his hood, and sinks out to his room without another word.

He does, of course, feel better after resting, despite it being a fitful and sporadic sleep. It’s not that he wakes up and everything feels okay, but it does feel far more distant. The pure  _ panic  _ that had filtered through him is now numbed down like a steady ache rather than an acute pain. It’s not blinding or all-encompassing anymore.

He takes several deep breaths and lets the dread of seeing Princey again wash over him. Looking back on the memory of last night is frustrating, and he lets out a humorless chuckle in the safety of his room.  _ Changed, _ has he? Last night was a perfect mimicry of how they both used to act. No change at all.

_ What’s the use of trying to change when one thing can make it all slip away?  _ He thinks to himself harshly, irritation and anger filling him. 

He’s barely allowed the time to go through that line of thinking, however, when he feels a gentle, light pull. Logic, he can tell. The Side must want to meet him in the Commons. 

He hesitates. What if Princey’s there?

He briefly weighs the chance of seeing Princey again with the potential of making Logic  _ actually  _ annoyed at him, and he decides he’d rather not see the latter. He’s used to dealing with Princey’s sharp tongue and biting words, but to make Logic truly frustrated at him? He really does not want to see what that is like.

He’s about to sink out and pop in in front of the staircase at the Commons, decision made, when suddenly he realizes that he’s not alone.

“Anxiety.” Deceit says, looking considerably different from the last time Anxiety had seen him, and not in a positive way. He looks... _ tired. _

(Anxiety thinks he’s not the only one who had trouble sleeping last night.)

“Deceit.” He says, his voice full of caution and carefulness as he draws whatever vulnerability he let himself show in the safety of his room into himself. This is  _ Deceit.  _ This is not the Side he spent his formday with, the Side that used to spend time with Virgil. “Why are you here?”

“Oh, yes, because  _ nothing  _ has happened in the last twenty-four hours.” Deceit bites back, and it’s not a barb but it feels like one against his already twitchy brain.

“I am well aware of what happened, in case you forgot I am-” He gestures to, well,  _ himself.  _ Anxiety. Last night happened, and it certainly fell firmly into his area. “But that doesn’t answer my question, because it’s not like we can convince Joan we were actually there to try and salvage this. They’re not stupid.”

“That’s true. They’re not.” Deceit says.  _ “Morality,  _ however, is another story.”   


“What are you saying?” He asks, his voice ice cold. He knows Deceit and Morality have...issues. He knows that they conflict and clash on a lot of things, ranging from basic principles to specific details. Still, he’s never liked the sound of one insulting the other. Hearing it now, so direct and harsh and aimed towards someone who supports him as  _ Anxiety  _ even though he feels like he’s messing everything up is not only jarring, but also pushes him to be far more defensive.

“Thomas cannot afford to lose Joan.” He says, and they both know it’s the furthest thing from a lie that Deceit could probably say. Sure, Thomas has other friends, but Joan is  _ Joan.  _ They’re someone that Thomas  _ needs.  _ Anxiety certainly needs them. Thomas’s friends put him at ease, and few can do it better or faster than Joan’s quick tongue or confidence or just,  _ them.  _ “We both know this. It’s simple enough. However, Morality will doubtlessly oppose any resistance, even if it is in the name of keeping that friendship.”

“You want to try and make things better by lying to them.” Anxiety says, understanding slowly coming to him. “Not about missing the reading, but about  _ why. _ ” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “Good luck with that. You know what it took to get them to start listening to  _ me.  _ Listening to an unconscious side, still stuck in the shadows? You won’t get far before they shut you down completely.” His face hardens. “And I know you’re not suggesting that we-”

“Oh,  _ yes,  _ because it’s always smartest to extinguish a match with a fire extinguisher.” Deceit drawls, and even though it’s a jibe he feels a part of him relax, because at least Deceit isn’t suggesting... _ that.  _ “No there are much easier, much more... _ influential  _ forms of having them listen to reason.”

“They listen to Logic just fine.” Anxiety mutters. He’s stopped being summoned by the Side in question. Thomas seems to have started to rethink over the situation, and the others have been distracted by attending to their Center.

Deceit gives him an eye-roll at the words, and the residual anxiety that’s been stirring around inside of him since last night finally breaks into something real, something that switches him to  _ fight.  _ “Just get to the point. Why are you here? What do you want from me?”

“Nothing really.” Deceit says, acting like he’s checking his nails even though he’s clearly wearing those neon yellow gloves. It’s odd, seeing such a color in his dark room. The shadows seem to have infected the bright hue, tainting it and making it something other than a color that is associated with light and happiness. 

Fitting, for Deceit.

(Fitting for what Anxiety has done to Deceit.)

“And I know it’ll be quite difficult for you, so-”

“Yeah, right.” Anxiety interrupts, giving him a look. “Just tell me what you need me to do.” He knows Deceit isn’t exactly a straightforward Side by nature, but he can’t handle anymore of this beating around the bush. Leftover anxiety from last night’s confrontation with Roman still fizzes restlessly under his skin, buzzing and festering and pushing him to not give an inch of ground. It doesn’t care that this is Deceit, that this is someone who sees Anxiety and agrees with him. It just wants  _ out. _

“No, really. I need you to do nothing.” Deceit says, looking him in the eyes with those starkly mismatched ones. “Do you think you can handle that?”

He knows it would make sense to find Deceit’s more snakelike eye unnerving, but Anxiety has actually always been more cautious of the brown eye that shared a likeness to all of their eyes, to  _ Thomas’s  _ eyes. 

It’s a reminder that they’re not monochromatic, that Deceit is much more than just  _ Deceit  _ and the uncertainty that comes with that is something Anxiety had never liked. He knows there’s also self-preservation and selfishness in there, but he’d never found a definable way to describe exactly everything Deceit encompasses.

Virgil had managed to find some sort of peace with it, but that was with someone who Anxiety is not allowed to think of. Anxiety has found no such comforts in that undefinable part of Deceit that seamlessly overlaps  _ selfishness  _ and  _ pride  _ and  _ rationality  _ and  _ self-care  _ and forms a contradicting and complex Side _ . _ It’s the part that he knows should be bad. Or, at least, “bad” in the terms of society and morality and the actual Side Morality.

But Anxiety finds himself worse than Deceit has ever been, so he can’t be sure if he believes the father-figure figment on that one.

“So what? You want me to  _ watch  _ while the others ignore you and let his friendship with Joan crash and burn?” He says, eyebrow raised and his voice dripping with disbelief. Because,  _ really,  _ Anxiety and Deceit may not know each other as well as Virgil-and-that-other-Side had known each other, but he does know that Deceit is not  _ this  _ foolish.

“No. I want you to stay silent on my role in the matter.” Deceit says, and suddenly more pieces click into place.

“A lie of omission.” Anxiety says, his voice quiet. Uncertain, because it feels like he’s betraying the others if he goes through with this, but he also feels like he’s betraying  _ Thomas  _ if he doesn’t let this happen. He’s conflicted to his very core, because the Sides Thomas is aware of think of him as a Side better than  _ this,  _ but also he thinks that  _ this  _ is something that’s better for Thomas.

“No rust on you at all, I see.”

“You’re going to replace one of them.” He says, trying to keep his voice neutral. He can’t quite manage it though. Hints of his internal conflict seep through, like ink bleeding as he writes on a piece of paper a story that he doesn’t know the ending to, much less if it’s a happy one or not.

(He doesn’t even know if he’s the protagonist, antagonist, or even someone who deserves to be featured at all.)

Deceit can do that - temporarily take the place of one of the forefront Sides. He’s in the back of Thomas’s mind, but he can peek up periodically if wanted, if  _ needed. _ He can disguise himself as another Side and make points and present options without anyone being the wiser. 

It only happens if lying is something Thomas is really considering, if it’s something deep enough that that self-preservation instinct is really and truly needed to be active beyond the back of his mind. It’s a rarity, but it’s not unheard of. Well, at least for Anxiety. He does not know if Deceit has ever been caught on it before unless he purposefully revealed himself, but he senses the Side hasn’t shown himself. He favors the shadows far too much.

The edges of Deceit’s lips curl up faintly, and Anxiety doesn’t know if it’s a smirk or a smile or something else entirely. It’s not happy or joyful, but it’s not condescending or malevolent either.

“Oh no, Anxiety.” Deceit says, that look still on his face. “I’m going to replace you.”

_ “What?”  _ The word slips out before he can think of it, but he doesn’t  _ need  _ to think of it, because  _ what?  _ Deceit had never replaced Anxiety before, because that just wasn’t a  _ thing.  _ He could, they know, but at the same time he couldn’t. He can’t silence or mute Anxiety like he can others. They’re both instincts. They can work together or against each other, but neither has a natural upper-hand. 

There was also just simply never a  _ reason  _ for Deceit to do that. Who was he going to convince in the back of the mind? The Duke? It wasn’t like it mattered who was speaking or whose opinions or beliefs it was back there. What mattered was their nature, what they  _ were.  _ Deceit could have pretended to be Anxiety everyday, but it wouldn’t have changed a thing.

The forefront Sides are a different story, because they’re more conscious, more  _ vocal.  _ The specifics and minutiae that Sides like Deceit and Anxiety didn’t - or, well, in the latter’s case  _ hadn’t  _ \- been privy to suddenly could make a world of difference, because Thomas listened to them  _ directly. _

So no, Deceit had never pretended to be Anxiety before.

So yes, he does have a reason to pretend to be Anxiety now.

“Unfortunately, Morality’s moral high ground is currently a little too out of my reach.” Deceit says, forgoing eye contact to let his gaze wander around the darkened room. Anxiety wonders if he’s cataloging all the differences since he’s last been here. He wonders how many changes Deceit room has undergone, if any. “The  _ perfect  _ prince understands relationships - he can be swayed. Logic for his part has no true stake in this situation. The real battle here is between what Thomas thinks is  _ right  _ and what Thomas  _ needs.  _ You and I both know that the latter is far more important.”

“I...I can’t.” He stutters out, stumbling over his words as his mind already says  _ yes  _ but also says  _ never.  _ “They’ll hate me.”

Deceit looks at him, and even though it’s been years he knows the other instinct can read him perfectly in this moment. Can see all the words swirling in his head, the  _ what-if-they-find-out  _ and the  _ if-I-lie-they’ll-turn-on-me  _ and the  _ I-can’t-be-alone-here-anymore. _

“Anxiety.” Deceit’s voice is suddenly soft and so much like the Side he used to be, the Side Virgil loved and Anxiety might have  _ destroyed- _

“Focus on me.  _ Breathe.”  _ He says, a gloved hand reaching out to grasp one of Anxiety's own.

Before, this was common. Two of his hands would wrap around one of Virgil’s, holding it firmly but not tightly. Together they’d count out breaths and listen to their Center’s heartbeat and just exist. When Virgil calmed down and would be able to handle physical contact more, then they’d sit beside each other and talk in quiet hushes and work out whatever needed to be worked out.

Now, Anxiety flinches away. Deceit jerks back in response, and the look on his face hurt Anxiety so much but he can’t pretend like nothing’s changed, he can’t-

“I  _ can’t _ be the villain anymore. I  _ refuse.”  _ He snaps as he crosses his arms protectively in front of his chest. The black hoodie feels like it’s suffocating him. It’s like he could just take a step backwards and disappear into the shadows, as if he never really existed at all. “You never understood. I was  _ never  _ like you. You might not care how they all see you, but  _ I do!  _ I do and-and I’m not going back to how the things were. I’m moving forwards, not wherever you’re going,  _ Deceit _ .”

Deceit looks at him for a moment, his face hard and unreadable, before it twitches slightly in something that Anxiety perceives as annoyance, anger,  _ fight-fight-fight- _

“Fine.” He says, and even his voice is now closed off, beyond Anxiety’s reach to someplace he’s not sure if Virgil would be able to reach. “Then don’t be. I believe I can take on the role well enough for both of us. I’ll make sure they all truly know that the true villain is yours truly. Just stay here and try not to ruin anything else. Think you can manage that?”

Guilt shoots through him, and he immediately reviews the harshness of his words. He hadn’t meant for them to come out that way, he had just been panicking and hadn’t been thinking and  _ he hadn’t meant it like that. _

“I...I...I didn’t mean to-” He tries to get out, but articulation abandons him. Anxiety distantly notes that his golden eye seems shinier in the faint light of his room, and actually the brown one does as well.

But it must be a trick of the light, because Deceit couldn’t actually be-

Deceit holds up a hand, and even though he’s wearing gloves, when he rests his middle finger against his thumb and pushes just right there’s still a very clear and resonating  _ snap. _

And then Deceit’s gone and he’s standing in his room looking at himself. Anxiety. With the darkened eyeshadow and the black plaid hoodie and the bangs that he lets fall over his face more than Thomas ever does.

“I’ve let you do your job,  _ Anxiety.  _ Now just  _ let me do mine.”  _ Deceit hisses.

He sinks out. 

And Anxiety, frozen and fearful and so,  _ so  _ guilty, simply...stays put.

For better or for worse, Deceit has taken Anxiety’s seat at the discussion table for this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had Deceit replace Anxiety instead of Morality because for me it just made more sense given the situation. Anxiety is less certain than canon Virgil. He’s more lost and wary of losing what he has. Instead of being anxious about lying to a friend - because that goes against morals - he’s anxious about losing that friend, because they’re a part of his peace that he already thinks is so fragile. Thomas is less thinking that lying is the “good” thing to do in this situation, and is more being motivated by fear. That’s why Morality’s out of Deceit’s reach - Thomas doesn’t think lying is morally right, but is still being pushed towards it anyway.
> 
> Also I've mentioned I have a playlist i listen to while I write this story. Would any of you be interested if I shared it? I've never been someone for listening to music while i read fanfictions, but if anyone want it I guess I could share it?


	6. interlude: roman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But Roman will not waver! He knows that it is a prince’s proper place to be chivalrous, honest, and courageous, but if they _always_ chase after moral highness, they might miss out on their future Royal Highness. He cannot allow that! Even if-
> 
> Even if something feels...wrong.
> 
> Spectacularly so, to the point that Roman isn’t convinced that it’s just the scenes. Well, sure, the screenplay is playing with some of his emotions and the smaller part of morality that he holds inside of him, but that’s not it. It’s not _everything_.
> 
> Because _yes_, each run through him and Thomas (Thomas and him? Himself and Thomas? Whatever. It’s not like Logan’ll hear so grammar can begone) go through intensifies this mysterious myriad of emotions within him, but that’s not it. It also grows every time his gaze goes towards-
> 
> Every time he looks at Anxiety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't really ever planning on changing perspective, but I did want to show the differences with Deceit acting as Anxiety. It also showcases how things stand between them all without Anxiety's cognitive distortions. I'm not saying that Roman's exactly a reliable narrator - everyone has their own bias, whether intentional or not - but here's a new perspective. I decided to post it today because it was from Roman's point of view, and today's his unofficial birthday, so happy birthday to the first most handsome prince in the world!
> 
> There was supposed to be more Disney references/references in general, but I honestly didn't know enough. Sorry. Also this is my first time properly writing from Roman's for so long and i really enjoyed it, even if I don't think I captured his character as much as I wanted to.
> 
> Also, since some of you expressed interest in my playlist for this fanfiction, I made it public. It can be found on my Spotify (Roxflame). I tried to link it here, but it wouldn't work. Sorry about that.
> 
> NO WARNINGS APPLY

Roman will be the first to admit that his expertise is not in the logical nor the moral department. Sure, they all have a bit of overlap here and there. He’s one of the Sides that is _ incredibly _well aware that their divisions aren’t exactly...split cleanly. 

So, of course, this does not mean he lacks logic or morals, nor does it mean that he does not have opinions in situations that mostly revolve around either. He does, in fact, have opinions. Strong ones.

One of which being that _ yes, _Thomas’s friendship with Joan matters. Roman likes them, because they’re a good friend and creative and support Thomas. Yes, Roman likes them.

Another one being _ no _ , Roman does not think that leaving right then to go to their reading was the right thing to do. Well, _ morally _so, maybe. Or maybe not. He doesn’t know that exactly.

But really, what was the _ point? _They had been peacefully partaking in parley with a pleasant possible-prince. To leave suddenly for seemingly no reason would have ruined any chance Thomas had with him, and also could have very well been all for naught. They had already missed half the show, and Roman knows that you can hardly appreciate the ending of a story properly if you did not know the beginning.

After all - what would The Lion King have been without the tragic death of Mufasa at the villainous hands of his own brother? Or what would Hercules be without knowing how the man himself went from zero to hero, _ just like that? _ Those stories would not nearly have been as emotional, inspiring, or dramatic! It’d almost be a _ disservice _to Joan if Thomas came late and missed all the buildup!

And yes, he _ is _ aware that lying isn’t exactly the _ best _ thing to do. But really, what’s the true harm? Thomas got to stay with that fabulous fella and with this route then Joan will still be _ stoked _to be Thomas’s compatriot!

Besides, Anxiety agrees with him! It was a fantastically unexpected twist when he suddenly appeared and was on _ Roman’s _Side over Patton’s, but an appreciated one nonetheless. Roman will admit that he had been grievously mistaken in his initial assessment of the angst-ridden Side, but he now is firmly aware that Anxiety is cautious and protective.

He must be on the right track, because even if he is not the Side the most well-versed on morality and cutesy and friendly emotions, wouldn’t Anxiety be the first to say if he thought that lying would really, _ truly _hurt Thomas’s relationship with Joan?

Even the spectacled scholar Logan himself is on board! Well, kind of. He’s more neutral, using countless facts and large words that he’ll admit he can’t quite understand but Roman’ll take it. It’s the most he’ll get out of him in a matter primarily focused on high-strung feelings.

And _ sure, _ Patton’s not entirely thrilled with the idea. The frigid, polar opposite, in fact. He’s a penguin to Roman’s polar bear, being on the opposite side of the _ planet _rather than on the same coloring-book page as the fanciful Side, much less using the same colored crayon.

But Roman will not waver! He knows that it is a prince’s proper place to be chivalrous, honest, and courageous, but if they _ always _chase after moral highness, they might miss out on their future Royal Highness. He cannot allow that! Even if-

Even if something feels...wrong.

Spectacularly so, to the point that Roman isn’t convinced that it’s just the scenes. Well, sure, the screenplay is playing with some of his emotions and the smaller part of morality that he holds inside of him, but that’s not _ it. _ It’s not _ everything_.

Because _ yes, _each run through him and Thomas (Thomas and him? Himself and Thomas? Whatever. It’s not like Logan’ll hear so grammar can begone) go through intensifies this mysterious myriad of emotions within him, but that’s not it. It also grows every time his gaze goes towards-

Every time he looks at Anxiety.

Anxiety, who had been assigned the role of stagehand and is managing it...adequately. Roman will admit he _ may _ have added in a few unnecessary tasks to his job just to see his reactions. And sure, Anxiety had complained and gotten a bit twitchy at the sheer amount of quests he had to complete in such a short amount of time, but he still was _ okay. _

Roman knows Anxiety has been trying to do better. He _ knows _ that it’d be a disservice to ignore that - to brush aside the demons the emo Side has had to vanquish day after day. So _ no, _he doesn’t expect Anxiety to hiss and snap and refuse to participate just to spite him like their old dynamic would have encouraged him to do.

But his behavior still just isn’t _ right. _

He hasn’t done that _ thing _ yet. Roman doesn’t have the calming words to keep Anxiety grounded or the emotional empathy Patton is able to bestow, but he does know the _ look. _

It reminds Roman of a...a member of a quest! The path is just a tad too narrow for everyone to go through it comfortably, and Anxiety is the one on the side of the path, each step either landing on the soft dirt or on the mud or makes him brush against a bramble thicket. And the thicket gets thicker and thicker and the path gets narrower and narrower and maybe thorns or sharp branches dig into Anxiety’s skin, but he can’t get himself to speak. He thinks someone has to be the one with mud in his boots or thorn scratches across his side, but there _ doesn’t _ need to be. They could spread out more and make room for him on the path, but they don’t know what’s happening until they look at him and he has that _ look _in his eyes that says he’s not happy with the situation and desperately wants it to change and-

And Roman will see something in his eyes, and make room for him on the path while continuing himself. Because he knows Anxiety would hate it if he called attention to the rest of the party, because even if they would wait for him to get the mud out of his boots or the thorns out of his skin, that would delay their journey and Anxiety would _ hate _that more than the brambles or mire.

And-

And Anxiety should be knee-deep in mud and covered in thorn scratches, but instead he’s somehow completely untouched and is standing...with _ good posture. _

Which is just. Not Anxiety.

But he has to focus! _ Come on Roman, the spotlight is shining on you. _Even if it feels wrong, he has to follow through with at least this scene. Even if things are wrong, he has to focus, keep his eyes on the prize of lies. Even if-

Even if he can’t keep his eyes off of Anxiety, not shooting him a retort or jibe or _ anything _beyond a slightly peeved huff after he made the Side go off on a needless quest for a prop that Roman himself knew the location of.

He even woefully neglects the precious padre who’s seeking to speak to him. Patton’s saying something from his spot in the audience, the designated audience for this performance.

(Whoopsy-oopsy-daisy-doopsy. Sorry ‘bout that, Pat. He didn’t mean to!)

And in his defense to losing some of his composure, he’s been under a lot of pressure! He’s not used to all these odd observations and conflicting feelings. That’s not his job. Or at least, it’s not _ supposed _ to be. It’s Logan’s job to make observations like this, but the logical Side is far more focused on the actions of Roman and their Center than of the Side in the shadows. It’s Patton's job to deal with feelings like these ones, but Patton’s already dealing with so much by trying to fight a battle alone, insisting that this _ isn’t _the right course of action.

No, these aren’t Roman’s job. _ Acting _is his job - well, one of many - and he should be able to do it without dealing with the messy overlaps they all have with each other. 

But regardless, they all are still parts of the same whole. Even if he and Anxiety-

Okay, really, what _ is _that phrasing? Is it supposed to be “he and Anxiety”? “Anxiety and him”? Is he supposed to be said first, or Anxiety.

By Cinderella’s missing glass slipper, this is going to stick with him, isn’t it?

Typically these types of things - the minor minutiae of proper grammar in his own _ thoughts _ \- just wash over him easily. But sometimes, _ sometimes _ things just stick, no matter how much he tries to push it aside. It’ll return and persist and just, _ stay. _It’s incredibly bothersome, even though he knows it’s not as bad for him as it is for-

_ Refocus. _He forces himself to think.

Even if _ the two of them _ aren’t as connected as they could be, they are _ all _still connected. Roman can’t help but notice something’s wrong with Anxiety, even if he lacks the proper knowledge or resources on how to approach the situation or even truly figure it out. All he can do is prepare to be there when he knows what to do or if Anxiety asks for him.

In the meantime-

Well, in the meantime, _ maybe _Patton has a point with this whole “lying to Joan is morally wrong and we shouldn’t do it” thing.

“This whole thing is a fiasco.” He finally cries out, frustration over the acting and observations and feelings finally causing him to maybe perhaps lose a _ little _itty-bit of his royal composure. In his defence, the whole situation is a pain in the royal behind. “It’s curtains, for sure!”

“Oh!” Patton says, “You heard him, Anxiety!”

Roman suddenly hears squeaky sounds and is enveloped in a velvet curtain. He starts to fight off the fiendish foe before deciding it just isn’t worth it. He also holds his tongue, because he is a chivalrous prince and will _ not _snap at Patton for poorly perceiving his words.

Besides, it’s probably for the best. Even if he did not get his grande finale nor perfect the final act, he honestly just...wasn’t feeling it.

Ugh. Stupid feelings, stupid awareness, and stupid-

Anxiety, who’s standing there and Roman _ still _feels wrong about it, even away from the acting and the active lying and the whole activity.

Anxiety who’s pushing his point, even when Roman retreats from the Side’s side. When Logan’s facts start to support honesty far more than dishonesty. When Patton gains traction with Thomas, and suddenly _ Anxiety _is the one fighting alone.

And Anxiety just does not look panicked or worried or distressed the way he should when he stands alone on the battlefield after his allies have waved the white flag.

“Anxiety, I hear where you’re coming from. But in this case, I think that communication is the best option here. Joan’s been my friend for a long time. I should trust them. Even if they’re mad for a while, it’s not worth it to risk losing them forever. In this case...I think I have to tell the truth here.” Thomas says, his words careful but firm. He does not want Anxiety to think they’re ignoring him again, casting him out once more and casting him as the villain.

And Anxiety-

Roman looks over Anxiety. 

He has this..._ look _on his face that does not belong.

He silently swallows with uncertainty he will not ever admit to and _ hopes _ he’s correct, or at least if he’s wrong he doesn’t just make things far worse.

“Anxiety,” He says, inserting himself into the conversation. He cuts himself off from adding a clever and creative nickname in the nick of time, because he does not want to waste one of those on a potentially unappreciative audience. He also forcefully keeps his voice light in an attempt to not feed into the tension and scare away the Side if he _ is _wrong. Or right. Either way, he does not want to scare the dark-clad Side. “Just answer me one question!”

“What?” Anxiety asks, and _ yes, _there is worry and anxiety in his tone and he is looking at Roman sideways, but it’s not-

It’s not _ right. _ It’s not _ that look. _

“Well, as we are all currently _ well aware, _I am an actor of the finest caliber. I am a sovereign of the stage, a prodigy of performance, a-”

“Roman.” Thomas says, his voice calm but also nudging. Oh yes, the matter at hand. Alliteration does get him carried away a bit. Whoops.

“The point is, even if I might not understand the deep feelings or scientific facts or worry or whatever, I’m Creativity. I _know _acting. And I now realize I started this off improperly. I want to ask _you_, the person next to me, a question from one actor to another.”

He takes a breath. Well, here goes nothing.

“Why are you pretending to be Anxiety?”

And _ wow, _ Roman has never gotten a room to go silent that fast. He silently pats himself on the back for managing to work drama _ into _healthy communication. Or something like that. Speaking up when he saw something wrong? Is there a shorter phrase for that? Ugh, he doesn’t know. Today’s really taken a lot out of him. Maybe he’ll ask Patton later.

“I mean, I _ may _ be mistaken, but as I’ve established, I am an actor. There are certain things that just,” He gestures vaguely. “Stick out to me like a stormcloud on a clear day. And _ you _ are not our resident stormcloud.” His eyes widen in realization as a thought hits him, and _ of course, _why hadn’t he realized sooner?

“In fact, I’d say it’s almost like you’re-”

His hand suddenly covers his mouth and his voice is silenced, and Roman feels a surge of pride at being _ correct. _

“Wow, Princey. I must say I _ totally _ saw that one coming.” Deceit-as-Anxiety says, dropping all illusions that he’s _ actually _their resident worrying warrier besides the visual one.

Aha! Take _ that, _ Logan, he _ can _deduct stuff!

“Ah,” Patton says, his voice soft and faint. “I get it now.”

“_I_ don’t!” Thomas says, his head turning between them quickly, from ‘Anxiety’ to Roman’s disobedient hand to Patton’s wide eyes to Logan’s quiet mutters of _ why-didn’t-I-see-it-sooner. _“What is happening?”

“We can’t tell you?” Patton tries, looking at their Center apologetically, before his gaze immediately going back to Deceit. Concern shines in his eyes, but also a fierceness that Roman has never associated with the peppy patriarch.

“Thomas, the mind is an _ incredibly _ complex system. Your brain is full of neurons sending signals traveling approximately two hundred times every single second. Although we are only metaphysical beings meant to encompass parts of your personality, you still cannot be encompassed fully by only _ four _of us.” Logan explains carefully. 

“There are things people don’t like about themselves.” Patton says in agreement. “And if you don’t like it enough, then you...ignore it.”

“We cannot tell you, because you do not _ want _to know.” Logan continues. “You have to have the desire for that knowledge before it can be gained. So answer me this Thomas: do you truly want to know?”

“I...I don’t know.”

“Oh, I don’t know _ either _ Thomas.” Deceit drawls mockingly, his cadence a mockery of Anxiety’s that’s purposefully just a _ bit _ off. It’s unnervingly and makes Roman wish he could verbally fire back at the imposter. “I mean, you might not exactly _ like _ what you find.”

Thankfully, that seems to be enough to convince their Center that he _ really needs to know. _

“Fine, tell me!” He decides, and Roman immediately regains control of his hand and moves it away from his face to instead point at the Side to his side that is _ not _the Side he wants by his side.

_ “Deceit!” _

The appearance of Anxiety slips away, and in its place is the proper visage for Deceit. Despite being discovered, he still wears a smug smirk on his face that makes Roman’s blood boil. 

“Deceit?” Thomas repeats, the Center’s eyes wide as he looks upon the Side previously unknown to him. 

“Who’s she? And here _ I _thought I was Morality.” Deceit says, sarcasm oozing from his voice.

“You _ certainly _are not puffball padre over here, you crooked con-artist cobra!” Roman declares passionately, the anger flowing through him at the deception only tempered by the fact that Thomas is now aware of Deceit and his trickery. If Thomas is aware of the malignant Side, then that must decrease his power, right?

Even if it does mean Thomas is technically one step closer to meeting…

_ Refocus_.

Thomas is (understandably) panicked, a fact that should not be reassuring to Roman but it _ is _ in some way. It is a sharp juxtaposition to how the Center had been... _ then. _When Anxiety had tried to...when Anxiety had thought he was no longer necessary. Thomas behaving this way may not be for the best and may hinder him, but it shows that he still has a capacity for Anxiety.

Which means Anxiety is still _ somewhere, _even if he is not here.

Roman can work with that.

They explain Deceit the best they can to Thomas, restricted by what Thomas wants to know and what they themselves know about the Side in question. And sure, it’s all grand and informative or whatever, but it doesn’t answer the _ real _question.

“And speaking of seeking knowledge, _ where’s Anxiety?!” _

The real question being _ that_.

“How dare you stand where he stood?!” He declares loudly, looking at the Side accusingly. In Roman’s defense, it is _ never _a bad time for references.

Deceit scoffs, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, _ please _do pretend some more that you’re not secretly glad I’m here instead.”

Roman’s fists clench, and he opens his mouth to retort, but-

_ “Excuse _ you? Anxiety is my kiddo and I care about him and I _ love _ him.” Patton declares, his voice not necessarily _ angry _ but...close to it. Perhaps more offended at the accusation, and Roman can understand that. They may have not always been the most... _ welcoming _ to Anxiety, but they’ve changed. They’re _ changing. All _of them.

“I agree with Patton, although in a manner that is much less...emotionally charged. I see no point in ‘pretending’, as you say, that I prefer one’s company over the other.” Logan chimes in.

“Exactly! So answer the question, _ snake _\- where is Anxiety?” Roman demands, and he will not admit to the fact that he is so wrapped up in wondering where their sorrowful Side is located that he was unable to think of a proper nickname. That would be ridiculous. Utterly absurd.

Deceit just looks at them and then rolls his heterochromic eyes. “Well, if you really want to deal with _that _‘stormcloud’ as you called him, then I might as well _stick around. _Especially since things went so according to plan. In the meantime, feel free to forget all about me.” 

And with that, he sinks out. Roman moves to take a step forward to grab him because he does _ not _ want the villain leaving without _ answering the question, _but he’s a step too late and his hand grasps air.

“But, what about-” Patton breathes, seemingly realizing the same thing that Roman just did.

“Patton, Roman, stay calm. Anxiety is clearly still somewhere, as Thomas has indicated none of the very visible signs of a lack of anxiety. In fact, I would say he has demonstrated a _ heightened _level of anxiety, especially since it was discovered that Anxiety is not actually present.” Logan says calmly, before turning to the Center. “Thomas, you feel anxious, correct?”

Thomas nods, “Definitely. Confused also, but yeah, I’d say anxiety’s pretty high up there right now.”

“Well, let’s not be hasty. We do not actually know Anxiety’s current location.” Logan replies. “Now, I believe it would be best if you attempt to summon him. No matter where he is, it is unlikely that he will be able to remain fully ignorant of your summoning, and the only reason he would not arrive is if he currently does not want to.”

“Uh, okay, I’ll just…” Thomas closes his eyes, his eyebrow’s creasing in concentration for a moment, and then-

Anxiety appears, curled up on the ground, his breathing heavy and his eyeshadow thick under his eyes.

Roman is still slightly out of position, partially between Anxiety and the others due to the fact he did not step back after his missed lunge. Anxiety’s eyes, so wide, meet his first as a result, and Roman sees an emotion flicker through them the moment he sees him there.

It’s gone a moment later, hidden and pushed firmly down, and Roman wonders if he misread it, or if Anxiety hadn’t truly realized where he was and who he was with for a moment.

Because maybe if it was before, _ yes _Roman would understand it, but surely Anxiety is no longer feeling that way, right?

_ He must’ve been confused or something, _Roman reasons in his head.

After all, there’s no other reason he would look at them with such unadulterated _ fear, _right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in the end, Roman still doesn't know the answer to his grammar question...
> 
> If you're in the Sanders Fanders discord feel free to tell me how you felt about the fanfiction directly if you want. It's Ronan here.


End file.
